by Mary Daheim
“No,” Gregory said in a mournful voice. “Only the horsehair part is here.”
“Who told you that?” Olive retorted.
Gregory pointed to Renie. “She did.”
“What?” Olive stared at Renie. “She’s a retirement-home salesperson. How could she know about the bow?” She looked at Judith over her shoulder. “Are you buying a retirement home, too? I thought you were an innkeeper.”
“Even innkeepers retire eventually,” Judith said meekly, thinking it best to let Olive believe Renie’s tall tale.
“I’m working the neighborhood,” Renie said glibly. “Mrs. Flynn and her husband are thinking about retiring to a woodsy area. I’ve got just the place for them on the Stillasnowamish River.”
Judith didn’t flinch at the reference to the family cabin site. “So peaceful,” she murmured. “So calm.” She certainly wasn’t going to admit that she’d almost been killed there not once but twice by cold-blooded murderers.
“Does it have a piano?” Olive asked.
“Piano!” Gregory exploded. “Who cares? What about my bow?”
“Come along, Gregory,” Olive said in a quiet voice. “Maybe we can talk to Rudi about it. You really must go back to the…your home.”
“I don’t want to!” Gregory shouted. “I want to live with you, like I did in New Jersey and New York.”
“You can’t,” Olive declared. “I’m moving. I’m retiring as of November first. I told you that while we were having lunch. Please come with me.” She glanced at Renie. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Right,” Renie said, watching Gregory, who was cringing on the sofa.
“Excuse me, Ms. Oglethorpe.” Judith had moved into the middle of the living room. “Did you come here looking for Gregory?”
“What?” Olive seemed to tense. “No. Not specifically. But since he’s here, I’d like him to leave with me.”
“Then,” Judith said, managing to block Olive’s passage from the sofa area, “why did you come?”
Olive hesitated. “I…I wanted to apologize for being impolite the other day when you stopped by my apartment house. I was very busy. The start of the symphony season, you know.”
“All you needed to do was pick up the phone and call me to say you were sorry,” Judith pointed out.
“That’s so impersonal,” Olive said. “I’m very old-fashioned. Anyway, I ask you to forgive my abrupt manner.”
“Fine.” Judith smiled halfheartedly.
“Also,” Olive went on, keeping an eye on Gregory, “I must inquire about my platter. Has it been returned yet by the police?”
“No,” Judith replied. “It takes time, but I’m sure they’ll be very careful with it.”
“I hope so,” Olive murmured. “It’s all I have left from my family’s ancestral china collection. It dates back to the mid-eighteenth century, and was made in England.” She shifted her gaze briefly from Gregory to Renie. “The platter belonged to a very distinguished ancestor.”
Before anyone could speak again, the front door opened. Judith backpedaled just enough to see who was coming into the entry hall.
It was Suzanne. She looked as if she’d gone three rounds with a five-hundred-pound gorilla. Her clothes were torn, her face was scratched, and there was blood on the back of her hands.
Judith hurried to the young woman’s side. “Suzanne! What happened? Did you have an accident?”
“An accident?” She was dazed, staggering by the foot of the stairs.
“Yes.” Judith noticed that Suzanne looked as if she’d been hit in the right eye. It was half-closed, red, and swollen. “Who hurt you?”
Suzanne opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Instead, she collapsed at Judith’s feet.
Not another body, Judith thought.
But Suzanne had merely passed out. As Judith bent over her the young woman’s lips moved. She uttered a single word.
“Elsa.”
Suzanne plunged into unconsciousness.
TWENTY
JUDITH WAS JOINED by Renie and Olive.
“What now?” Renie asked anxiously.
“Suzanne got into a fight with Elsa Wittener,” Judith said, rubbing the young woman’s wrists. “I think.”
Olive bristled. “What did you say?”
Judith ignored her. “Get some water, coz. I think Suzanne’s coming around.”
“Coz?” Olive said sharply. She stared at Renie. “You’re Mrs. Flynn’s cousin?”
“Even retirement-home salespersons have cousins,” Renie replied blithely, and rushed off to the kitchen.
Suzanne moaned and groaned, but didn’t open her eyes. Judith wanted to avoid calling 911—again—at all costs. As far as she could tell, the young woman’s injuries were superficial.
Olive was peering at Suzanne. “I can’t imagine Elsa fighting with anyone,” she declared. “She has weak wrists. It’s not like her.”
“That’s a moot point right now,” Judith retorted as Renie came back from the kitchen with a glass of water. “Good. Suzanne’s eyes are opening.”
Renie offered the water while Judith helped Suzanne into a sitting position.
“I can’t deal with this,” Olive declared. “I’m leaving.” She turned around and went back into the living room. “Gregory?”
Suzanne took two swallows of water. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Judith nodded. “Are you seriously injured?”
“No,” Suzanne replied, putting a hand over her damaged eye.
“Are you sure?” Judith asked.
“Yes. I know my body. Nothing’s broken.” She took several deep breaths. “I gave Elsa as good as I got. She’s fast on her feet, though.”
Judith became apprehensive. “Where is Elsa?”
“Where is Gregory?” Olive demanded, coming back into the entry hall. “He’s disappeared. He couldn’t have left without us seeing him come through here.”
“The French doors,” Judith said impatiently.
“Oh.” Olive sounded dismayed. “I didn’t notice them. Oh, dear!” She raced out of the house via the front door.
Suzanne scowled. “What did Olive want? Was she here to offer condolences about Mom’s death?”
Judith and Renie exchanged quick glances. “I’m not sure she knows about it,” Judith admitted. “She was looking for Gregory.”
Suzanne rubbed her right shoulder. “He was here again?”
“Yes,” Judith replied. “Please—where is Elsa?”
“I’m not sure,” Suzanne said, twisting her neck this way and that. “I left her at Rudi’s house.”
Judith was losing patience as her fears for Elsa increased. “Is she badly hurt?”
“Not bad enough,” Suzanne retorted, her voice much stronger. “That woman’s evil.”
“I’d better go over there,” Judith said. “Is the door unlocked?”
“Maybe.” Suzanne took another sip of water. “I’m not sure. Oh, I hurt!”
Judith looked at Renie. “Can you take over?”
“Sure,” Renie said. “But be careful.”
Despite the drizzle, Judith didn’t need a jacket. She started out the front way, but stopped short of the Persian area rug in the entry hall. Suzanne’s running shoes had left zigzag muddy tracks on the parquet flooring. That wasn’t unusual with all the rain and all the guests. But what caught Judith’s eye were some white flecks mixed in with the mud. She bent down as far as she dared, picking up one of the shards. Pottery or crockery, maybe. But the smooth surface could also indicate teeth. Judith shuddered. She must hurry to the scene of the latest debacle. Elsa Wittener might need medical attention.
Still, she paused on the Wittener house’s small porch. Not that she ever enjoyed going inside. One gruesome murder had already occurred there years earlier. Then Herself had moved in. Now Rudi and his not-so-merry band of oddballs. The house seemed to attract strange—even dangerous—occupants.
The Honda was still parked at the curb. Judith couldn’t
bear to use the doorbell and hear the chime of Vivian Flynn’s ode to booze. Instead, she knocked. And realized that the door was ajar.
“Ms. Wittener?” she called, stepping inside.
Judith hadn’t entered the house since one of her rare visits to Vivian. Gone were all traces of Herself’s pseudo–Italian Provincial decor. Instead, what little furniture she could see from an open arch off the small entryway seemed to be American antiques, covering at least two centuries. An eighteenth-century armoire, an early-nineteenth-century settle, and a Colonial rocker looked authentic.
Elsa Wittener was nowhere in sight. Nor was there any indication that a brawl had taken place in the living room. Judith called out again. No response. She went into the kitchen, then through the small hallway that led to the bathroom and two bedrooms. Again there was no Elsa and no sign of a struggle.
Fearing the worst, Judith went out the back door and down the short flight of concrete steps that led to the basement. She remembered that the area had been converted into a studio for Taryn’s piano lessons. Maybe that’s where the confrontation had taken place.
A small room had been created out of what Judith assumed had once been a coal bin. The door was open.
The piano bench was overturned; sheet music and lesson books were scattered around the floor; a metronome lay on its side on a brightly striped rug that looked as if it had come from Peru. But no Elsa.
Judith was about to upright the piano bench, but thought better of it. This could be a crime scene, she thought, shuddering. I shouldn’t touch anything. Feeling helpless, she stood in the middle of the room and tried to think.
“Get out!”
The voice shot from behind her, only a few feet away. Judith turned on legs that suddenly wobbled.
“Elsa?” she said in a breathless voice.
“Mrs. Flynn?”
“Yes.” Judith’s mouth was suddenly dry.
Elsa leaned against the doorjamb. Like Suzanne, she sported evidence of a struggle: scratches, bruises, torn clothing, and red hair in wild disarray as if someone had tried to pull it out by the roots. A large Band-Aid covered her lower right arm.
“I was trying to find you,” Judith said, not sounding like herself.
“I was in the downstairs bathroom treating this cut,” Elsa replied, holding up her injured arm.
Judith licked her lips. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No.” Elsa rubbed her wrists. “I’ve already spent time in the emergency room this week. I’m not going back.”
“I don’t blame you,” Judith said, still uneasy. “Can you drive?”
Elsa’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “Are you suggesting I leave?”
“Of course not,” Judith replied, noting that Elsa still seemed to have all of her teeth. “I was wondering if you could get home by yourself. You seem to be in pain.”
“That’s none of your concern.” Elsa, however, sounded as if she were running out of steam.
“But it is.” Judith was bluffing. “I’m responsible for this house.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Maybe you’re not aware that the owner is a Ms. Flynn.” Judith tried to ignore the sacrilege she was about to commit. “Vivian Flynn is my…sister-in-law. I look out for this rental when she’s in Florida.” Luckily, Herself had hired an agent to oversee the property. Neither Judith nor Joe had wanted to assume responsibility in his ex-wife’s absence. “I have to check for damage that may have occurred as a result of your row with Ms. Farrow.”
Elsa gestured at the studio mess. “See for yourself. We had our face-off right here. Everything belongs to Taryn Moss.” She sneered. “You and your in-law needn’t fret.”
“Good,” Judith said with a lift of her chin. Her nerves had settled and she was gaining confidence. “The rest of the house seems unharmed. However, there’s always the liability of personal injury to either you or Ms. Farrow. How did this quarrel occur?”
“That’s none of your business,” Elsa snapped.
“True.” Judith noticed that blood was oozing through the Band-Aid. “You’d better let me change that bandage. It’s leaking. Let me get another Band-Aid.”
Elsa glanced at her arm. “It’s fine,” she asserted.
“No, it’s not,” Judith countered. “You can’t drive like that. You’d better sit.” She righted the piano bench and indicated a rail-back chair that had somehow survived being tipped over. “Go ahead.”
Elsa’s eyes snapped angrily, but she obeyed. “I took a couple of extra Band-Aids from the medicine cabinet.” She used her left hand to reach into the pocket of her gray slacks. “Here.”
Judith carefully removed the original bandage. “It needs to be tighter,” she said.
“I used my left hand,” Elsa said, still hostile. “I’m right-handed. And I was shaking.”
“Of course.” Judith used a tissue she had in her pocket to wipe the wound, which looked relatively superficial despite the blood loss. “Do you take aspirin regularly?” That, she knew, would account for excessive bleeding.
“Yes.” Elsa paused. “I have some chronic pain.”
“I understand,” Judith said, tightly applying a fresh Band-Aid. “I suffer from a form of migraine. Not to mention I have an artificial hip.” She sighed. “Life’s tough as we get older. And being a single mother is hard, isn’t it? I know, I was one for years.”
“I beg your pardon?” Elsa was caught off guard.
Judith perched on the piano bench and shook her head. “An only son—that makes it harder. I lost my first husband when Mike was still in his teens. At least Fritz’s father is still alive.” And so is Mike’s, Judith thought, but Elsa doesn’t need to know that.
“Why are you telling me this?” Elsa demanded.
“Because I know what you’re going through.” Judith’s expression was cloaked in sympathy. “You only want what’s best for Fritz. It’s not that he’s so much younger than Suzanne, it’s that she’s unstable. In fact, for all I know, Fritz is more mature than she is. Suzanne has led a very sheltered life, like Rapunzel in the tower.”
Elsa’s eyes widened. “How do you know? Did Suzanne tell you?”
“No, certainly not.” Judith looked innocent. “But I understand people. I read them fairly well. If Dolph Kluger had what is called an ‘ear,’ maybe I have an ‘eye.’” And maybe I shouldn’t brag. It doesn’t sound like me. But Elsa won’t know the difference. “In any event, this is no time for Suzanne to make big decisions. Her mother hasn’t been dead for more than a few hours.”
“Did she expect me to care?” Elsa retorted bitterly.
“You mean Suzanne?”
Elsa nodded—and winced. “That hurts. My neck.” She grasped the back of her head. “That silly little bitch!”
“Suzanne?” Judith’s voice was calm.
“Yes! Suzanne! Who else? Why should I care what happens to her or her snooty mother? A broken heart indeed! Andrea probably overdosed! She’s been a pill popper ever since I’ve known her.”
“You’ve known her a long time, I take it?”
“Of course.” Elsa sighed wearily. “Ever since she married Dolph. Andrea was always active in the social scene for music benefits, even if she couldn’t tell a sharp from a flat. She was a regular do-gooder when it came to fund-raising. Though where those funds ever went, I don’t know. Rudi didn’t, either.”
“Are you talking about embezzlement?” Judith inquired.
Elsa gave Judith a disparaging look. “I’m not talking about anything to you. I must go.” She stood up, though her legs seemed unsteady. “I don’t know where you got your information about Suzanne and Fritz. Keyholes, probably. But I’ll thank you to mind your own business. I can handle Fritz. He’s devoted to me.”
“Wait.” Judith couldn’t stop herself. “You know perfectly well that Suzanne and Fritz can’t marry. She’s his aunt.”
Elsa froze. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know what Suzanne t
old me,” Judith declared.
“She’s wrong. Fritz isn’t Rudi’s son.” Elsa’s lips curved into a wicked, triumphant smile. She wobbled out of the studio.
Wearily, Judith stood up. If Rudi hadn’t been Fritz’s father, who was? Dolph? He certainly was the obvious suspect. If that was the case, then Suzanne and Fritz weren’t related.
Judith gazed at the chaotic remains of the quarrel between Elsa and Suzanne. Taryn could finish the cleanup. It was her studio.
Which made Judith wonder what Elsa had been doing downstairs when the fight must have started. And why she seemed to visit her ex-husband’s house fairly often. Looking around the small room, she couldn’t see anything that didn’t pertain to music lessons and piano playing. The only thing that struck Judith as odd was that the keyboard lid was closed. Maybe that was to keep out dust. Judith never shut hers. She didn’t want to discourage guests who might enjoy using the piano for their own entertainment.
She was still surveying the room when she heard Elsa calling to her. “Mrs. Flynn! Help me!”
Elsa didn’t sound frantic, but frustrated. Judith left the studio and headed for the outside-stairs entrance. Sure enough, Elsa was leaning against the door, breathing hard.
“I can’t turn the knob,” she said. “I hurt my wrists.”
“I’ll do it.” The knob on the inside was stiff, but Judith managed on the second try. “It needs oiling. Are you sure you can drive?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine.” Elsa flexed her fingers. “Thank you.” Her tone was far from gracious.
Judith watched her climb up the stairs. Elsa clung to the rail and took her time. A moment later, she disappeared around the corner of the house, heading in the direction of the cul-de-sac.
For almost a full minute, Judith teetered on the brink of a decision. She should go back to Hillside Manor. But she was inside the Wittener house, and she was curious. If Rudi or Taryn should come home, she could always use the excuse that Vivian Flynn had called to ask her to check on the rental. Neither Rudi nor his live-in love could know that Joe and Judith had very little contact with Herself. Or, she thought, she could tell the truth. It wasn’t her fault that Suzanne and Elsa had staged a knock-down brawl on the Wittener premises, and that Judith had felt an obligation to see if Elsa had survived.