by Mary Daheim
She went back inside. Beyond the studio and at the end of a short hall she found the half bathroom. An open doorway led to the rest of the basement, which seemed quite ordinary: storage boxes, tools, garden equipment, and odd pieces of luggage were among the expected items. The boxes were labeled with black marker pen: music scores; lesson plans; tapes and CDs; books; photographs; directories: USA and Canada, Europe, Far East. For creative types, Rudi—or Taryn—seemed very organized. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. Judith walked back out into the little hall.
For some reason, the studio beckoned to her. She went back inside, feeling she had missed something. She lifted the piano bench’s lid. There appeared to be nothing but music and lesson books. The brightly striped rug that covered most of the floor had gotten caught under one of the bench’s legs after Judith had put it right side up. She used her foot to smooth the fabric and suddenly lost her balance.
“Damn!” she swore out loud, catching herself on the edge of the piano. Her other foot touched something next to the instrument. It was a small hammer. She hadn’t noticed it before, probably because the bench had blocked her view. A hammer seemed like an odd thing to find in the studio. Had Elsa or Suzanne used it as a weapon? Or at least as a threat? That seemed plausible. Judith left the hammer on the floor and started to move away. But she couldn’t. She walked back to the piano and raised the keyboard lid.
The white ivories had been smashed; so had some of the black keys. Particles fell onto the floor, some landing on Judith’s shoes. Only then did she notice that there were other bits and pieces of the keys embedded in the various colors of the rug—the same kind of shards that Suzanne had tracked into Hillside Manor.
The attack had been savage. Who else but Elsa would—or could—have done such a thing? But why? Judith turned around and hurried out of the studio, into the hall, and outside to the cement stairs. At the top, she took a deep breath. The air smelled damp, with just a hint of autumn’s decay. Judith looked around the enclosed garden. It had not been well tended since the original owners had lived there. Vivian was no gardener, and apparently Rudi and Taryn weren’t, either. A few dahlias and chrysanthemums had prevailed, the flowers drooping on leggy stalks as if they’d given up hope of better days.
But someone had been working in one of the flower beds near the fence. Judith walked across the small patch of grass. There was a barren patch between dead tomato plants and lettuce that had gone to seed. Someone had gone to the trouble of digging up whatever was planted in the middle of what originally had been a vegetable garden. Judith could think of one possible reason.
Rhubarb.
TWENTY-ONE
“I WAS ABOUT to call the cops,” Renie said from the front porch when Judith returned to the B&B. “Again. What took you so long? I was getting worried.”
Judith waited to respond until the cousins were inside. She flopped down on the sofa in the living room and related her adventures at the Wittener house. “Where’s Suzanne?” she asked when she’d finished.
“Taken to her bed,” Renie said, “or at least gone upstairs. If I’m going to spend the night, I have to go home and check on Clarence. I should see how Oscar’s doing. He may want to watch TV for a while.”
“Aaargh!” Judith exclaimed. “Don’t start with Oscar. I’m in no mood for it.”
“You’re in no mood for much,” groused Gertrude, who sailed into the living room in her wheelchair. “What happened to lunch? Now it’s almost time for my supper.”
“Oh my God!” Judith cried. “I…we had another tragedy here today.” She dragged herself up off the sofa and went to her mother, who had stopped the wheelchair just short of the coffee table. “A guest died.”
“So? Does that make me next—from starvation?” Gertrude looked unmoved by the latest disaster. “I’m lucky I had some pickles and candy in my prison cell.” She turned her beady glare on Renie. “And where were you, my nitwit niece? Taking care of your martyred mother or out carousing with sailors? Either one would make me puke.”
“How about a nice TV dinner?” Judith suggested. “I’ll put it in the microwave so it’ll be done in just a few minutes. Turkey? Fried chicken? Salisbury steak?”
“I want pig hocks and sauerkraut,” Gertrude said. “Nefle, too. And make it right. Be quick when you cut the noodle dough into the boiling water. Oh, carrots sound good, too.”
“I don’t think I have any pig hocks—”
“Then get some,” Gertrude ordered. “Make sure they’re already boiled or it’ll take too long to get ’em tender.” She glared at her daughter and her niece. “What’s wrong with you two? Sitting around the living room when it’s going on five o’clock.”
Renie, however, wasn’t sitting. She had gone over to the phone on the cherrywood table and was making a call.
Gertrude paid no attention. “Well? Are you just going to stand there like a stick, dopey?” she demanded of her daughter. “Go to the butcher shop. Get some boiled pig hocks. At least I’m not going to ask you to make the sauerkraut from scratch. That takes days…”
Judith tuned out Gertrude and edged closer to Renie, whose back was turned.
“Mom,” Renie was saying, “I’ve already called twice today. I told you I was staying with Judith while Bill was…No, Bill didn’t drown…No, I haven’t fallen down and skinned my knee…Listen, Mom, please…No, I don’t need to drain my sinuses…Mom! Do you have any pig hocks?”
Gertrude was still ranting about the nefle. “The last time you made it, the noodles were hard as marbles. I broke a tooth, remember? And don’t make spaetzle instead. You get that out of a stupid box, and the box would taste better than the noodles. I want…”
“Great,” Renie said. “I’ll bring her over.” She hung up. “Hey, Aunt Gertrude, you have a dinner invitation. Mom has pig hocks that she cooked a couple of days ago. She’ll make you exactly what you want for dinner. I’ll drive you over to her apartment. Let’s go.”
Gertrude looked startled. “My sister-in-law has pig hocks?”
“Sure,” Renie said. “She likes them, too.”
“Do I have to listen to her gab?” Gertrude asked as Renie unlocked the brake on the wheelchair.
“You can listen or not,” Renie replied. “In fact, how would you like an overnight with Mom? Maybe she could get a couple of your chums in to play bridge.”
“Bridge, huh? Play for quarters?”
“Why not?”
“Because your mother doesn’t like to gamble for money. She’d rather talk everybody’s ears off. She doesn’t pay attention to her cards. The last time she was my partner, she passed after I bid one no-trump. It turned out she had ten points in her hand and we could’ve made a…”
Judith sighed with relief as Renie accompanied Gertrude out the back door. She couldn’t remember when she’d completely forgotten to feed her mother. Guilt overwhelmed her. She’d gotten so involved—and trying not to be involved—that she’d neglected Gertrude. Judith felt that her priorities had gotten out of whack.
But she still had to prepare dinner. Renie would be starving in another hour, too. Judith started for the kitchen just as Estelle limped down the main stairs.
“Mrs. Flynn,” she said, sounding less curt than usual, “might I get something for Suzanne and me to eat? I could get along, but I worry about her. She rarely consumes what I consider hearty meals.”
“Yogurt and fruit mostly?”
The maid nodded. “It’s as if she were depriving herself for some reason. If she’d been a Catholic, I’d expect her to join a convent.”
“Yes,” Judith said slowly. “I understand. Suzanne’s dedicated to keeping fit, but she’s rather like an ascetic. It’s an austere, disciplined lifestyle without the goal of spiritual improvement.”
“I really think her mother’s death has shattered her mind,” Estelle said, and promptly put a fist to her lips. “I mustn’t say such things,” she added after an awkward moment had passed.
To Judith’s
surprise, Estelle seemed close to tears. “Are you referring to the quarrel with Elsa Wittener?”
“Partly.” Estelle leaned on the newel post. “If only I’d stopped her from going over to the Wittener house. It’s all so foolish.”
“Come into the kitchen,” Judith coaxed. “I’ll make you some tea. Unless you’d like something stronger?”
Estelle sighed wearily. “Brandy, perhaps. I don’t drink alcohol as a rule, but Mr. Kluger always swore that brandy was a great restorative.”
“I have some in the dining-room liquor cabinet,” Judith said. “It’s not terribly expensive like the brand that Fritz brought for the party the other night, but—” She stopped just at the edge of the entry hall.
“Yes?” Estelle was right behind her.
“Uh…nothing. I’m just trying to remember what kind I actually have,” she fibbed. “I’m pretty rattled about now.”
Thinking hard, Judith went to the washstand that served as the guest liquor storage. She found an Ararat Five Star bottle of brandy that was almost full and poured an inch into one of the snifters she kept in Grandma Grover’s breakfront.
“Here,” she said, handing the drink to Estelle. “Sit in the kitchen while I figure out what to make for dinner. What sounds good to you?”
“Chicken,” Estelle replied, lowering herself into a chair. “I always like chicken. And Suzanne will eat that. She avoids red meat.”
Judith opened the refrigerator’s freezer compartment and removed a package of boneless chicken breasts. “Had you known about Suzanne’s feelings for Fritz before this?”
Estelle took a sip of brandy and made a face. “Oooh! I don’t really like the taste. It’s very strong.”
“I can still make tea.”
“No.” She sniffed at the liquor. “I’ll pretend it’s medicine.”
Judith put the chicken breasts in the microwave while she waited for Estelle to answer the original question. But the maid remained silent. Judith tried another route. “How long has Suzanne known Fritz?”
“For some time,” Estelle replied. “Off and on, over the years.”
“What’s the attraction?” Judith inquired, trying to sound casual. “They seem like an odd match.”
Estelle frowned as she took another sip of brandy. “Not really.”
Judith hit the defrost button on the microwave. “How so?”
“They don’t fit into their families,” the maid said. “They’re not musical. They’re oddities, as far as their parents are concerned.”
“But Andrea isn’t—wasn’t—musical,” Judith pointed out.
“Madam had no talent,” Estelle clarified. “But she was keenly interested in classical music. She was always involved in money raising for various artists and organizations.”
Judith recalled that Elsa had begrudgingly told her as much. “Tell me,” she said, “who is Frederica?”
Burying her nose in the brandy snifter, Estelle hesitated. “Frederica?” She looked up. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
Judith wasn’t sure that Estelle was telling the truth. In fact, she thought Estelle was feeling the effects of the brandy. Her eyes looked unfocused and her pale cheeks were turning pink.
The microwave timer went off. Estelle jumped. “What was that?” she asked in alarm.
“The microwave,” Judith replied. “I’ve been defrosting the chicken. I understand Frederica liked all kinds of music, popular and classical.”
“Wouldn’t know,” Estelle mumbled. “I don’ feel s’good. Musta been tha’ tumble I took outside. Feel like I fell off m’horse.” She closed her eyes and sucked in her breath. “Oh, no!”
Judith stared at the maid. “What horse?”
“Don’t ’member that, either,” she mumbled. “All a blur. Jus’ as well. Gruesome sight.” She bobbled the snifter as she used one hand to rub at her eyes. “Like Ichabod Crane. Oh, my!” She polished off the brandy in one gulp and started to cough.
Judith patted Estelle on the back. “What do you mean? Are you talking about Blake Farrow?”
Estelle’s head bobbed up and down—and then from side to side. “Feel awful. Room’s spinnin’. You’re spinnin’. Oh, my, my, my!”
Judith’s concern overcame her curiosity. “Do you want to lie down in the living room?”
The maid coughed a few more times, sputtered, and shook her head. “No,” she gasped. “Gimme a minute.”
Judith waited. Finally Estelle hauled herself to her feet. “G’bye,” she muttered, shuffling out of the kitchen.
While she sautéed the chicken, put water for rice on to boil, and cooked broccoli, Judith wondered about Suzanne and Fritz, about Dolph’s numerous progeny, about Elsa’s invasion of the Wittener house, about Estelle’s strange reference to the headless horseman, Ichabod Crane, and a myriad of other things associated with the two deaths. By six o’clock, dinner was almost ready. Renie still hadn’t returned, but Judith wasn’t surprised. Getting Gertrude organized and taking her to Aunt Deb’s would require time at both ends of the trip. If Gertrude had agreed to spend the night—and might have, given the lure of a bridge game—then she would have made all sorts of demands on Renie before they even left the premises. And when Renie got to her mother’s apartment, Aunt Deb would talk her daughter into a virtual comatose state. Furthermore, Renie had chores at home. Judith was turning everything down on the stove and in the oven when the phone rang.
“O’Grady here,” Rosemary said cheerfully. “I’m keeping you informed, Murder Maven. We won’t have an autopsy report on Mrs. Kluger until Monday. Everything slows down on weekends. But there were no outward signs of foul play.”
“That’s reassuring,” Judith said. “Still, I’d think that this investigation would have top priority, even on a weekend. What about the results from those liquor bottles?”
“Uh…I don’t know yet,” Rosemary replied. “How’s Suzanne?”
For some reason, Judith was reluctant to unload on the detective. Her pity for Suzanne, not to mention her confusion about the young woman’s emotional state, favored discretion. There was also something about Rosemary’s attitude that bothered her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe Rosemary was waiting to confer with Morgenstern.
“Suzanne’s doing as well as can be expected,” Judith said.
“I see.” Rosemary sounded less than convinced. “No hysterics?”
“No,” Judith answered truthfully. “She’s calmed down this afternoon.” Except for the punch-out with Elsa. “I’m making her dinner.”
“Oh. I’ll let you go, then. Just checking in.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course,” Rosemary said with a smile in her voice. “Honestly, it’s such a comfort to know you’re right there with those…people. Or what’s left of them. I don’t suppose you’ve learned anything new?”
“Nothing worth mentioning just now,” Judith hedged, still feeling protective of Suzanne. She didn’t know what to make of Gregory, except that maybe he was mentally unstable; she felt it unwise to report Elsa’s claim that Fritz wasn’t Rudi’s son or that…Too much information, too much of a muddle. Judith had to sort it out for herself before passing anything on to Rosemary.
“I’ll keep in touch,” Rosemary promised.
Judith set the phone down on the counter. She might as well take trays up to Suzanne and Estelle. Renie could be gone for another half hour at least. Maybe the cousins would have a cocktail before dinner. Judith felt as if she could use one. Her physical and mental energies were depleted.
Room One was nearest to the head of the stairs, so Judith rapped first on Estelle’s door. There was no response. The brandy might have put her to sleep. For once, Judith wasn’t filled with dread. She left the tray with its covered dishes on the floor. The maid could eat it cold when she woke up or come downstairs and heat it up in the microwave.
Suzanne responded immediately. “Dinner?” she said, sounding as if the concept were novel. “What is it?”
/> Judith explained that it was chicken Divan, except that she’d used broccoli instead of asparagus, which was out of season.
Suzanne gingerly fingered her bruised chin. The black eye was becoming more apparent, but otherwise the young woman seemed improved. “I suppose I should eat something. Thanks.” She took the tray from Judith.
“I’m glad,” Judith said, “I found out that you and Fritz aren’t related. That upset me.”
Suzanne dropped the tray on the side table with such a clatter that Judith thought she might have broken some of the dishes. “What?”
Judith shrugged. “After what you told me about Rudi’s parentage, I couldn’t believe you’d marry his son, who had to be your nephew. But of course he isn’t, is he?”
Suzanne’s face became even more distorted. “How do you know?”
Judith shrugged again. “I couldn’t help but overhear you talking to Fritz on the phone. It bothered me. The relationship seemed too close to be…legal. But I should have guessed Rudi wasn’t Fritz’s father even then. You referred to Elsa as his mother, but to Rudi by his first name, not as Fritz’s father. That was inconsistent if Rudi really was—”
“Oh, stop!” Suzanne snarled her short hair with her fingers. “What difference does it make? Leave me alone. I’m fine.”
“Good.” Judith walked out of the room.
They’re all crazy, she thought as she trudged downstairs. How could so many people connected to one another all be nuts?
Heredity, maybe, or so she asserted after Renie breezed through the back door a few minutes before seven.
“That’s possible,” Renie said, avoiding Sweetums, who had followed her into the house. “People inherit insanity. Sometimes I think it’s contagious. It looks like this bunch is driving you to drink.”
Judith glanced at the scotch rocks she’d poured for herself just before Renie arrived. “You’re right—they have. Bourbon for you?”
Renie shrugged as she sat down at the kitchen table. “That or Canadian. Explain why you’ve come to this latest conclusion.”