Saks & Violins

by Mary Daheim

  “Fritz seems fond of his father,” Rosemary said, “in a way. At least he doesn’t bad-mouth him.”

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea in front of you and Levi,” Judith noted.

  “How do you mean?”

  Judith paused. She wasn’t sure what she meant. A fragment of conversation came back to her. “I happened to hear Taryn and Fritz talking about Rudi and Elsa before the party. It struck me that they were doing their best to make it look as if Fritz’s parents still got along fairly well. Or at least Taryn was. Fritz was more…noncommittal. But,” she went on, “Elsa mentioned that Fritz is very protective of her.”

  “That’d be typical, I suppose,” Rosemary remarked. “I have an aunt who’s divorced. My cousin is about Fritz’s age, and he acts like his mother’s knight in shining armor.”

  Judith thought back to Mike’s younger years. Whatever criticism she’d had of Dan McMonigle was never directed at him as a father. He had been a good parent, spending more time with Mike than Judith could. Of course Dan hadn’t worked during most of those years, and Judith had two jobs to support the family. It was only fair that Dan had shouldered so much of the parental responsibilities. But fairness didn’t always equate with reality. Dan, however, had taken his duties seriously. When he died, Mike was bereft. Later, Mike became more protective of Judith, especially if another man showed any interest in her. By the time Joe had reentered her life, Mike was grown and away from home. Otherwise, her son might have put up insurmountable barriers to the rekindled romance—and never discovered that Joe was his real father.

  Rosemary had nothing more to add, but promised to keep Judith apprised of any new developments. The next hour seemed to drag. Judith realized she’d heard no thumping or any noise at all from the second floor. Apparently, Suzanne had confined her exercise to the earlier run.

  The lack of communication with her guests was driving Judith nuts. It was so unlike Hillside Manor’s usual routine. Less work, more worry, she thought as she stood at the bottom of the back stairs, wondering if she dared check on the second floor’s strange trio.

  “Yahoo!” Renie cried, thrusting open the back door and accidentally banging Judith in the rear end. “Ooops! Sorry, coz.”

  Judith rubbed her backside. “I’m glad you didn’t knock me down, you idiot. Couldn’t you see me through the window in the door?”

  “I wasn’t looking,” Renie admitted, removing the green jacket and hanging it on a peg in the hallway. “Be nice to me, I’m full of important information.” She gazed out into the kitchen. “Is it safe to talk?”

  “Nobody’s stirred a stump,” Judith said. “That’s what’s bothering me. It’s weird.”

  “Now I can eat a real breakfast,” Renie announced, opening the fridge. “I’ll make it myself.” She began gathering eggs, bacon, and packaged hash brown potatoes. “Olive fell for my line like the salmon are going for Bill and Joe’s bait. We hope.”

  Judith couldn’t believe it. “You succeeded with a bunch of hoo-haw where I failed? Incredible!”

  Renie nodded as she put bacon in a skillet. “No problem. How do you think I bamboozled all those CEOs and other corporate big shots over the years? I can blah-blah with the best of them—including you.”

  “Great.” Judith sat down at the kitchen table while Renie cooked. “So tell me what you learned.”

  “Olive has worked for Rudi about fifteen years,” Renie began. “Before that, she was in the corporate world, at some big company in New Jersey. She wanted to quit the rat race, so she took early retirement. But Olive isn’t one to stay idle.” She stopped long enough to carefully flip her bacon. “When Rudi advertised for an assistant, she interviewed for the job because she told him she’d always been a music lover. He hired her, and the rest is history.”

  “That’s it?” Judith asked, disappointed.

  “Not quite.” Renie looked smug. “I told her about our piano. Our real piano. I said it came with the retirement home.”

  The piano had been purchased by Aunt Deb when Judith and Renie were children. Aunt Deb and Uncle Cliff had thought their daughter should learn to play, but Renie had absolutely no musical talent. By a fluke—and the ignorance of a novice piano salesman—Aunt Deb had managed to pay a mere hundred and twenty-five dollars for a solid rosewood English spinet circa 1830 that was a transitional instrument from the harpsichord and didn’t really sound like a piano. Especially when Renie tried to play it. But the bottom line was that the so-called piano was worth thousands of dollars even at the time of its sale some fifty years earlier. The legacy of Aunt Deb’s piano purchase resided in the Jones household.

  Renie put the hash browns into the skillet. “Olive was intrigued, but mentioned that the piano wasn’t nearly as old as some of her family heirlooms, including the serving piece she brought to the party.”

  Judith rested her chin on her hands. “So? That’s not very helpful in solving our mystery. Where did Olive live when she worked for Rudi?”

  “She moved from Somerville, New Jersey, to Manhattan.” Renie added the scrambled eggs to the pan and placed two slices of bread in the toaster. “And moved again to Philadelphia and finally here.”

  Judith tapped her cheek. “A faithful body. How old is she?”

  “Sixty-one, come December.”

  “Thinking seriously about retirement?”

  “Apparently. She can’t wait to see the home,” Renie exulted.

  “Will she ever?”

  “Of course not. Olive thinks it’s in a new building at the bottom of the hill. I gave her the address of the basketball arena at the civic center. If she goes to look, she’ll just think she’s confused. Or I am.”

  Thoughtfully, Judith watched her cousin start to dish up. “Connections?”

  “I asked,” Renie replied. “References, nearest relatives, all the stuff you’d need to know if you were representing a real retirement home. Her parents have been dead for years, she’s never married, and she had a sister who died quite some time ago. There was also a niece or a nephew, but I got the impression Olive hadn’t kept in touch.”

  “Alone in the world,” Judith murmured. “I always find that so sad. We’re lucky to have come from a big family, even if neither of us had any brothers or sisters.”

  “True,” Renie agreed, her plate now piled high. “What do I get to do next?”

  Judith regarded her cousin with amusement. “You like playing Let’s Pretend?”

  “It keeps my mind off my debts,” Renie said grimly. “It distracts me from wanting to throttle Suzanne.”

  Judith got up to pour herself more coffee. “Assuming it was Suzanne who stole your credit cards.”

  Renie had sat down and was stuffing her face. “Hooelz?”

  “Who else? I don’t know,” Judith admitted. “It seems to me she has to be the culprit.” She looked up at the high ceiling. “Why don’t they come down? Why don’t they eat? Why don’t they move?”

  “Want me to collect the salad stuff from last night?” Renie asked.

  “No. No, no. You’ll end up duking it out with one of them. But you’re right,” Judith said. “That makes a good excuse to go up there.”

  Renie had shoveled more eggs and hash browns into her mouth. “Gluck.”

  “I need some good luck,” Judith asserted, heading down the hall.

  She was almost at the top of the back stairs when she heard sobbing. Alarmed, Judith hurried down the hall, where she saw Suzanne sitting on the settee by the front stairs railing, crying her eyes out.

  “Suzanne!” Judith exclaimed, her natural compassion coming to the fore. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Mom!” she blurted through her tears. “She’s dead!”

  SEVENTEEN

  JUDITH WAS STUNNED. She stumbled against the table that held the guest telephone, magazines, and a half-dozen board games.

  “Have you called a doctor?” Judith asked in a voice that cracked.

  Suzanne, who had covered her face with her h
ands, shook her head.

  Grabbing the phone, Judith dialed 911. More emergency vehicles, she thought with dread. Hillside Manor would be deleted from the state B&B association’s list of recommended inns.

  The female dispatcher sounded almost bored by Judith’s call. “What have you got this time?” she inquired, apparently seeing the Flynn phone number and address pop up automatically on her screen. “Death? Dismemberment? Homicide? Sui—”

  “Just send the damned medics!” Judith shouted angrily.

  “I already have,” the dispatcher said drily. “I think they usually park about a block away from your house.”

  “Not funny,” Judith muttered, turning away from Suzanne. “I ought to report you.”

  “Somebody ought to report you, honey,” the voice retorted just before hanging up.

  Judith sat down next to Suzanne. “What happened?” she asked the still-sobbing young woman.

  But Suzanne seemed unable to speak other than a few incoherent words: “Sleeping…stopped…Estelle…pulse…”

  “Where’s Estelle?” Judith spoke more sharply than she’d intended.

  Suzanne jumped. “There,” she said in a hoarse voice, and pointed to her mother’s room.

  Judith got up, but before she could cross the hall, she heard Renie at the bottom of the stairs. “What’s going on? Do I hear sirens?”

  “Yes!” Judith shouted. “Let them in!”

  She heard Renie swear, uttering some really bad words usually reserved for R-rated movies. Not that Judith blamed her cousin; she felt like saying a few of them herself.

  Instead, she yanked open the door to Andrea’s room. “The medics are here,” she announced loudly.

  Estelle, who had been standing with her back to the window that looked out over the driveway, was impassive.

  “Well?” Judith demanded, barely able to look at the still form in the bed. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “No,” Estelle said quietly but firmly.

  Judith refused to be stonewalled. “This is my establishment. You are my guest. I’m responsible for you and for Ms. Farrow and Mrs. Kluger. I must insist that you tell me what’s happened here. Is Mrs. Kluger actually dead?”

  Estelle seemed to have turned to granite. “I won’t say anything until I have a lawyer present.”

  Judith felt like tearing her hair. Or yanking out Estelle’s. “All right,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I quit.” She stalked out of the room and planted herself in the middle of the hallway.

  A moment later she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. The usual EMT and firefighting crews—or as near as Judith could tell—arrived on the second floor with Renie bringing up the rear.

  As soon as the medical personnel entered the guest room, one of the firefighters asked Estelle to move out into the hall. The maid started to protest but slowly edged away from the window. Judith glowered at her as she felt Renie’s hand on her arm.

  “What now?” she asked in a low, impatient tone.

  Judith shot a quick glance at Suzanne, who had risen to her feet, but had her hands over her face. “Andrea’s dead,” she whispered. “I’m done, finished, kaput.”

  “Oh…” Renie let out another stream of obscenities, but at least she said them quietly. “What do you mean?” she demanded as Judith’s last words sank in.

  “I can’t do this anymore.” Judith’s strong jawline was set. “I’m too old. This is the last straw. I’ll buy your house as a retirement home.”

  Renie stared at her cousin. “You know it’s not really for sale.”

  The firefighters, in their heavy equipment, crowded the area while the medics did what had to be done in the bedroom. Judith noticed that the battalion chief with the name tag Conley was among them. He, in turn, was looking at her.

  “I had a feeling we’d meet again,” he said, moving closer to Judith. “What kind of a place is this, really?”

  “An abattoir,” Renie snapped. “What do you think?”

  Judith didn’t speak, but folded her arms across her chest and looked straight ahead at the linen chests that ran from floor to ceiling in the hall.

  Bemused, Conley stroked his thick mustache. “I was thinking of taking my almost ex-wife someplace around town for a farewell getaway weekend. I’ve obviously found the perfect spot.”

  One of the medics exited the bedroom. Judith didn’t recognize the crew cut or the square, earnest face. Nor, she told herself, did she care. Josef Stalin could have shown up with a red cross on his chest and she wouldn’t have given a damn.

  “Who called this in?” he asked.

  “I did.” Judith refused to look directly at the medic.

  “I’m afraid Mrs. Kluger is dead.” The medic obviously despised giving bad news. “We’ll need some information before we take her away.”

  “You need information!” Judith exploded. She pointed to Suzanne. “Ask her. Ask the maid hovering in the doorway. Don’t ask me—I don’t know a damned thing! And I don’t want to find out!”

  “Whoa!” Conley held up his hands. “Calm down. Don’t take this personally.”

  “How else should I take it?” Judith demanded. “These people are plague carriers. Move them all out before I torch the place!”

  Conley, whose demeanor had altered to pseudocompassionate, tipped his head to one side. “Hey, calm down. I thought you were an old hand at this.”

  “I quit,” Judith repeated. “Quit, quit, quit.”

  “Police here,” Rosemary announced from the stairwell. “I picked the 911 call off of the scanner on my way to get some lunch.” She reached the second floor, her usually pert face suitably grim. “What have we got now?” she asked Judith.

  “I quit.”

  Rosemary was startled. “You what?”

  “You heard me,” Judith snapped. “Talk to my cousin. Talk to anybody but me.”

  “But, Mrs. Flynn,” Rosemary protested, “you can’t—”

  Renie intervened, putting out an arm between her cousin and the detective. “She can. She has. Don’t pester her. I’ll talk to you, if you need anything. Leave Judith alone. It may take my cousin a while to make up her mind, but once she does, don’t try to change it.”

  The crew-cut medic had rejoined his partner in the bedroom. Rosemary asked Estelle and Suzanne to step aside. The maid glared at the detective, but grudgingly half carried the distraught Suzanne to Room Four. Judith turned her back on the others, gazing over the stair rail behind the wicker settee.

  “How’d it happen?” Conley inquired of Renie.

  “I’ve no idea,” she replied. “Ask the maid.”

  “Hold on,” he said. “By any chance is this the wife of the guy who keeled over on the sidewalk a few nights ago?”

  “Yes,” Renie said. “She’s hardly left her room since.”

  “It looks like once she does leave, she won’t be coming back,” Conley remarked.

  Judith tried to ignore the exchange. She caught the faint sound of footsteps downstairs.

  “Yoo-hoo! Are you up there?” Arlene Rankers called.

  Judith leaned over the banister. “Yes, Arlene. I’ll be right down.”

  “I can be up faster than you can get down,” Arlene asserted, climbing the stairs like a teenager. “Who’s dead?”

  Judith grimaced. “Don’t ask me.”

  “Oh.” Arlene was undaunted. If she had to quiz everybody in the house, she’d eventually get her answers. “Well?” she asked of Renie.

  “Andrea Kluger,” Renie said. “We don’t know anything else.”

  Arlene made a face. “Oh, come, Serena—you must know something. Everybody does.” She turned to the battalion chief. “Conley, isn’t it? You have to know. You’re in uniform.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Conley apologized. “I’m just here for the show.”

  “Maybe,” Renie suggested as Judith started for the head of the stairs, “we should get out of the way, too. Wait for us, coz.”

  For the first time, Judit
h noticed that Arlene was holding something long and slim in her hand.

  “What’s that?” Judith asked, waiting on the top step.

  Arlene ignored the question as she walked toward Room Three. “Just a peek. I hardly ever get to see the bodies.”

  Conley put out a long arm. “Hold it. You can’t go in there.”

  Arlene gave the firefighter a pitying look. “Of course I can. Do you think I’m afraid of a corpse? You have no idea how many funerals I’ve put on at SOTS. I have a freezer full of funeral food. Mostly hearty casseroles, but some desserts, too.”

  Rosemary came out of the bedroom before Arlene could go any farther. “I’m calling the medical examiner,” she announced. “This room is sealed off.”

  “But,” Estelle objected, “you can’t keep Miss Suzanne from her mother’s side.”

  “I’m afraid I can,” Rosemary said gravely. “I’ve got two uniforms coming any minute to stand guard. Excuse me.” She nudged Estelle and the still-distraught Suzanne out of the way.

  But Estelle wasn’t giving up easily. “Wait—are you implying there may be an autopsy?”

  “It’s possible,” Rosemary said.

  “That won’t do,” Estelle declared. “It’s bad enough that there was one for poor Mr. Kluger, though I daresay that wouldn’t have been permitted if Mrs. Kluger hadn’t insisted that her husband had no history of heart trouble.” The maid gave Suzanne a little shake. “You won’t allow it, will you, Miss Suzanne?”

  “Unf,” said the overwrought young woman.

  “You see?” Estelle’s two chins both jutted, like an angry pug’s.

  Rosemary remained calm. “The matter may be out of the family’s hands. There’s been one homicide already. We must make sure that this death was natural.”

  “Of course it was,” Estelle said sharply. “Madam died of grief.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Rosemary retorted. “Now please take Ms. Farrow away.”

  The maid shot Rosemary a dark look. “Very well,” she said with obvious ill will. “Come, Miss Suzanne, we’ll go into your room.”

  Rosemary stopped in midstep. “Don’t bother trying to go through the adjoining bathroom. It’s padlocked from the other side.”