by Mary Daheim
Estelle glared at the detective. “Really now!” But she and Suzanne went on their way to Room Four. “We must get legal counsel,” she said to the grief-stricken young woman.
“I’m going downstairs,” Judith announced, wondering why she’d lingered so long already.
“Me, too,” Renie said. “I can’t be of any help here.”
“This isn’t fair,” Arlene declared, but she followed Renie, who was behind Judith. “Especially to your mother.”
At the first landing, Judith glanced back at Arlene. “Mother’s used to sirens around here. Besides, she doesn’t always hear them.”
“I don’t mean that,” Arlene said after they reached the entry hall. “I mean this.” She brandished the long, fraying item that looked up close as if it were made of coarse gray hair.
“Good grief!” gasped Renie.
Arlene nodded. “Exactly. And such grief this corset stay must have caused your Aunt Gertrude. It’s a wonder it didn’t give her a rash!”
“That’s not a corset stay,” Renie said, her eyes huge. “That’s part of a violin bow!”
“What?” Arlene held the item in front of her. “Oh.” She stared at Judith. “Then what was it doing in your mother’s old corset?”
Judith clapped a hand to her forehead. “I’m an idiot!” she cried. “How could I have been so blind?”
“I’ve no idea,” Arlene said. “Why, your dear mother must have had to walk with her chin way up in the air. And how she breathed with this stiff thing I can’t guess. You should sue the girdle maker. How could they make a garment like that? Third-world workmanship, I’d guess. Ecuador or El Salvador or one of those other ‘dors’ in South America. It’s a good thing I sorted through the things I’m taking up to Saint Vincent de Paul at church tomorrow.”
Renie made a dive at Arlene and snatched the bow out of her hand. “That thing is worthless, but the rest of it’s priceless. Where is the wooden part? This horsehair gets replaced often.”
“The dryer,” Judith said in disbelief. “Phyliss!”
“Huh?” said Renie.
“What?” said Arlene.
Judith took a deep breath. “Phyliss complained the other day about one of Mother’s corset stays getting stuck in the dryer. It must have been this part of the bow—which was ditched in the dryer by whoever stole the rest of it.”
“Not in your mother’s girdle, I hope,” Arlene said.
Judith shook her head. “But the wooden part—the valuable section—could be somewhere else in the basement.” She froze. “What am I saying? I don’t care if there’s an entire string section in the damned basement!”
“Let’s go look.” Renie started off, but she’d only got as far as the dining room when the uniformed officers arrived just as the emergency personnel were leaving.
“See you soon,” Conley said with mock good cheer, saluting Judith.
She merely grimaced while the firefighters and EMTs tromped across the threshold.
Apparently the newcomers from the patrol unit were weekend replacements. Judith had never seen them before in her life.
“Mueller, is it?” Rosemary said to the older of the two. “You go upstairs to Room Three and make sure nobody goes in. Syzmanski, I’ll put you at the bottom of the stairs by the front door.”
The uniforms nodded, giving Judith, Renie, and Arlene only the most fleeting of looks.
Rosemary gestured at the parlor door. “Let’s go in there.”
“You go,” Judith said. “I think I’ll bake a cake. Or something.”
Renie grabbed Judith by the upper arms and propelled her toward the parlor. “Oh, no you don’t, coz. Did I abandon you when you sank in the quicksand at the family cabin? Did I let you fall over that cliff along the creek when we were hiking with my dad? Have I ever let a homicidal perp kill you in cold blood if I could prevent it?”
“That’s not fair!” Judith cried, but she didn’t resist. Indeed, she couldn’t. Renie was determined to shove her into the parlor.
Standing on the hearth, Rosemary smiled at Arlene. “You’re Mrs. Rankers, aren’t you?”
Arlene evinced surprise. “How did you know?”
Rosemary’s smile tightened. “You call the police fairly often to report suspicious conduct, I believe.”
“My husband is the block-watch captain,” Arlene said in a self-righteous tone. “Of course we report suspicious activity. People we don’t recognize. Pets not on leashes. Cars that look too shabby to be driven on Heraldsgate Hill. A surfeit of ugly bumper stickers.”
Rosemary put up a hand. “Let’s stay on track—please?” Her smile became brighter, if forced.
“About Mrs. Kluger…” Renie began.
Rosemary cleared her throat rather loudly. “Mrs. Kluger has died.”
“Yes, yes,” Arlene put in. “We already knew that.” She glanced at Judith, who was sitting in the armchair next to her. “Didn’t we?”
“Don’t ask me any questions,” Judith murmured.
“The cause of death is undetermined,” Rosemary continued, “but it appears to be natural. That is, there was no sign of trauma.”
“For Mrs. Kluger, maybe,” said Arlene. “What about the rest of us? I’m certainly traumatized by all this.”
Renie got up from the small bay-window seat where she’d been sitting. “I’m going to the basement. Excuse me.” She went out through the near door, which led into the living room.
Rosemary’s smile was nowhere in sight. Indeed, she looked perturbed. “What’s Mrs. Jones up to?”
Judith felt compelled to answer. “We think we found part of the missing violin bow,” she replied. “I believe it may have been hidden in my clothes dryer. My cousin has probably gone to look for the rest of it.”
“Really?” Rosemary brightened. “Amazing! Honestly, Mrs. Flynn, you are absolutely marvelous!”
Judith bit her lip.
“She’s right,” Arlene declared. “You have a knack for solving murders. It’s not fair for you to drop out.” She looked at Rosemary. “Isn’t that so, Ms. O’Grady?”
“Oh, definitely!” Rosemary enthused. “She’s like a real detective.”
Arlene nodded. “Just like Oliver Wendell Holmes, only with an artificial hip, instead of a deerstalker.”
“I think you mean—” Rosemary started to say before Judith stood up.
“There’s someone in the entry hall,” she said. “I’ll see who it is.”
The newcomers, who had been let in by Officer Syzmanski, were Tommy Wang and Mitch Muggins from the crime-scene unit. Rosemary, who had followed Judith out of the parlor, greeted them.
“Just in case,” she whispered to Judith. “Then we’ll remove the body for the autopsy.”
With deferential smiles for Judith, the two young men went up the stairs. Arlene was peering out from the parlor doorway.
“What about that bracelet?” she demanded.
Judith wished Arlene would keep her mouth shut. “You tell her,” she said with a scowl.
Arlene did just that. “I don’t know where Judith put it,” she concluded.
Judith sighed. “The freezer. Try chicken parts and pork chops.”
Rosemary traipsed after Arlene. Judith waited in the parlor, gazing out the front window and trying to concentrate on what else Joe needed to prune along the driveway. The rosebushes would have to wait until later in the fall. But her pink camellia could be cut back now.
Arlene and Rosemary returned. The detective was peering at the bracelet’s inscription. She turned the ice-cold bauble in her hands. “Yes. It could refer to Mr. Wittener and Ms. Farrow. How interesting.”
“I don’t suppose,” Arlene remarked, “this is a good time to ask Suzanne. There’s always Rudi, though. Where is he?”
“What do you mean?” Rosemary inquired.
Arlene began ticking off neighbors on her fingers. “The Porters went to the state fair—it’s the last weekend, and Gabe gets in free because his produce company supplies
some of the food. The Steins are shopping for a new roof, though why they’d want to put it on this late in the year, I don’t know. The Ericsons are staying at the ocean on a cheap motel rate because it’s after Labor Day. Mrs. Swanson is at a luncheon with some other ladies, probably Queen Bess’s tea shop because they like the little cakes there so much, especially with the cream-cheese frosting. I haven’t seen Rudi or Taryn today, so I assume they’re home. Why haven’t all these emergency vehicles drawn their attention?”
Rosemary looked worried. “Let’s hope they merely want to keep out of it,” she said with the hint of a resentful glance for Judith. “I should’ve checked in with them.” Her composure seemed to be eroding around the edges.
“I’ll go over there right now,” Arlene volunteered.
Rosemary started to protest, but stopped. “Be careful, Mrs. Rankers. This is a volatile situation.”
Arlene left the parlor. At the front door, Judith could hear her interrogating Officer Syzmanski. His age, marital status, schooling, family connections—the works. It was Arlene at her best.
“She probably knows everything including his blood type,” Judith said with a wry smile.
“This is quite an unusual neighborhood,” Rosemary remarked. “It seems very close-knit.”
“It is,” Judith said. “That’s why people like Rudi and Taryn don’t fit in. They don’t mix. And they cause problems.”
Like murder, she thought. And wondered what Renie was doing in the basement.
And then, because she’d vowed to dissociate herself from the whole sordid business, wondered why she wondered.
EIGHTEEN
“I SUPPOSE,” ROSEMARY ventured, “you should give the bracelet back to Suzanne. It’s not evidence in and of itself.”
Judith sighed. She might be able to resign from solving the case, but she couldn’t turn off her human emotions. “I feel sorry for Suzanne. She’s lost both parents and a stepfather. Maybe I’ve been hard on her.”
“How so?” Rosemary asked, glancing out the window, where rain had started to fall again.
Judith shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” I’ve got to keep my distance. “I had some doubts about whether she really owns a gym or a fitness club in Greenwich Village.” Shut up. Forget Suzanne and the whole damned crew. “But it doesn’t matter.” Oh, yes it does.
“There’s no gym,” Rosemary said. “Levi and I already looked into her background.”
“Really.” Judith poured herself a glass of water from the tap. “Does she work at all?”
“No. She occasionally volunteers, though. Youth groups, Special Olympics—that sort of thing.”
“Hmm.” Judith paused to sip from her glass. “Why would she make up a story about owning a gym?”
“You understand people better than I do, Mrs. Flynn,” Rosemary said. “To make herself look good?”
“Possibly,” Judith allowed, knowing she was falling into a trap but unable to save herself. “Or it’s a fantasy she’s had and never been able to do anything about. Did you and Levi look into her finances?”
“She appears to have an allowance,” Rosemary replied. “It’s automatically deposited into a checking account every month, and is always the same amount—three thousand dollars.”
Judith considered the sum. “It’s not a lot, especially for New York. But maybe she doesn’t pay for her apartment in Greenwich Village.”
“There is no Greenwich Village apartment,” Rosemary said. “I’m afraid Suzanne gave you bogus information. She’s always lived at home with her mother and stepfather.”
“Well.” Pity for Suzanne continued to swell. “She seems to have led a stagnant existence. It sounds so sad.” Judith set her glass down on the counter. “Do you mean that the Greenwich Village address doesn’t exist or that Suzanne lied about living there?”
“Oh, it’s a real apartment address,” Rosemary asserted. “It just doesn’t belong to Suzanne. It’s been occupied for the last five years by a couple named Seymour-Styles.”
“Suzanne’s certainly created a tissue of lies—or fantasies—for herself,” Judith said as Renie appeared in the hallway, her expensive outfit covered in dust and cobwebs.
“Zip,” Renie declared, going to the sink to wash her hands. “Zero, nada, no luck. It doesn’t make sense.”
“No bow?” Judith said. “That is, no back of the bow or whatever it’s called?”
“Stick will do,” Renie muttered. “I’m a mess.”
Rosemary excused herself to go upstairs and check on the forensics team’s progress.
“You might want to check on Suzanne, too,” Judith called after the detective. She turned to Renie. “I can’t help it. I feel sorry for Suzanne.”
Renie brushed at some of the dust on her slacks. “The only-child syndrome bugging you, Ms. Quitter?”
Judith’s black eyes snapped. “What do you mean?”
Renie plucked a long-dead spider off her sleeve and threw it in the sink. “You—and I—were only children like Suzanne. She appears to have had every material advantage—which we did not. But we had loving parents and a close-knit extended family. We were given a spiritual life. We had all the things that Suzanne may never have had. Not to mention that she lost her father at about the same age that you lost yours. You feel guilty, coz. If I weren’t such a coldhearted little twerp, I’d feel guilty about Suzanne, too.”
Judith didn’t say anything at first. Renie was right. She did feel guilty. She often felt guilty, even about things she hadn’t done. Judith was still blaming herself for Dan’s early demise, despite knowing better. She had a logical mind. Why couldn’t she reconcile reality with her emotions?
“Well?” Renie said.
“I haven’t been very kind to Suzanne,” Judith confessed.
“She isn’t an easy person to be kind to,” Renie pointed out. “It’s that damned money and social status. On some level, people like us envy that sort. Remember when F. Scott Fitzgerald said, ‘The rich are different,’ and Hemingway replied, ‘Yes—they have more money.’ It’s true, that’s all they do have. In this case, maybe Suzanne doesn’t even have that, at least not of her own. Otherwise, she wouldn’t steal my worthless credit cards.”
“True.” Judith drank more water. She hated it when Renie was right. Her cousin was too damned smug and got more opinionated with age. It was an aggravating combination.
“Okay. Mull,” Renie said in a resigned voice. “What did I overhear when I came upstairs about that apartment not belonging to Suzanne?”
“It doesn’t, never did, I guess,” Judith said in a lackluster tone. “That’s what’s so sad. Suzanne has created these fantasies for herself—the gym, the apartment, the kind of independence you and I took for granted when we grew up. She’s over thirty, and yet she’s still a child. She has to pretend to make life bearable. Maybe on some level she even believes her own tall tales. Suzanne can’t deal with reality.”
“Reality can be rough,” Renie remarked. “Shall I call the present tenants at the apartment Suzanne doesn’t rent?”
Judith gave Renie a sour look. “No. I will. That’s because I need to know for business purposes. Phony addresses are the bane of an innkeeper’s life.”
“Right.” Renie kept a straight face as Judith picked up the receiver from the counter and dialed Manhattan directory assistance.
“Seymour hyphen Styles in Greenwich Village,” she said when she reached an operator. “I think the ‘Styles’ part is with a y, but it could be an i.” She waited, pen in hand. “Thanks.” The phone began to ring at the other end. “Hello? Is this the Seymour-Styles residence?”
The Englishman’s voice replied that indeed it was. “Who’s calling, please?”
“This is Judith Flynn,” she said. “I own a B&B, and I have some confusion in my guest records. Your address was given for one of our recent visitors, but it’s not checking out. The last name is Farrow.”
“I’m sorry,” Seymour-Styles replied. “I don’t know
anyone named Farrow, certainly not in this building.”
“I see.” Judith paused. “Maybe it was a previous address. Could you tell me who lived in your apartment before you rented it?”
“I—” Seymour-Styles stopped. “Just a moment. My wife may recall. Daphne?”
Judith waited as she heard a muffled voice at the other end.
“Long shot,” Renie said, more to herself than to her cousin.
“Mrs. Flynn?” Seymour-Styles said into the receiver. “My wife informs me it was a musician by the name of Wittener. His first name escapes her, but she thinks he moved to Philadelphia.”
“Thank you,” Judith said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Disconnecting the phone, Judith gave Renie a bleak look as she relayed the information.
Renie shrugged. “You expected that, didn’t you? I wonder if he lived there with Suzanne—or if that was wishful thinking on her part. She must have been there often enough to know the address.”
“True,” Judith said, gazing thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “I wonder if Suzanne has pulled herself together.”
“Don’t look at me,” Renie replied. “I’m still trying to figure out why anyone would steal a priceless violin bow and then take it apart.”
“To make it easier to conceal?” Judith suggested.
“Maybe,” Renie allowed.
“I’ll go upstairs and see if I can do anything for Suzanne,” Judith said in a resigned voice. “I’ll give her the bracelet. It might make her feel better. But,” she added as she picked up the Eternity circles from the kitchen table, “I’m not going to sleuth.”
“Okay.” Renie was looking strangely benign.
Wearily climbing the back stairs, Judith considered her chances of being allowed to see Suzanne. Estelle was a tough obstacle to overcome. She had assumed the role of duenna, guardian angel—and possibly prison sentry. Only a fib would do, but Judith didn’t have one in mind.
In the hallway, she saw Rosemary conferring with the forensics team. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Flynn,” Rosemary called with forced cheer. “Tommy and Mitch are just leaving. I don’t suppose you care what they found.”