by Mary Daheim
Judith hesitated. “Well—yes. At first I thought it was our cat. But I could swear I heard someone moving.”
Mercedes shrugged. “Whoever it was isn’t there now,” she declared with a touch of apology. “There is some dirt—more like mud—on top of the clothes dryer. But your cat could have done that, right?”
“Cats don’t open windows,” Judith insisted.
“No,” Mercedes allowed. “They don’t. We can search the rest of the house and the yard.”
“Thanks,” Judith said, noticing that Darnell was taking a call on his cell.
“We got a big brawl at the civic center,” he announced to his partner. “Kids, drugs, Saturday night,” he said to the cousins. “We’re backup. Sorry.” He turned back to Mercedes. “Let’s go.”
The officers went.
“Drat,” Judith said, turning on the kitchen lights. “I guess our crime session is over for the night.”
“Then how about some microwave popcorn?” Renie suggested.
“Okay,” Judith said, searching in the cupboard for popcorn with extra butter. “It’ll take three minutes and seven seconds. I noticed Mother left a light on in the toolshed. I’ll go turn it off while you do the popcorn.” She tossed the packet to her cousin.
“I’ll melt extra butter,” Renie said.
“It’s already buttered,” Judith said from the hallway.
“There’s no such thing as too much butter,” Renie declared. “I consider butter a food group.”
Shaking her head, Judith went outside. She glanced at the window in the basement. It had been closed, probably by Darnell or Mercedes. If someone had escaped through that window, it had to be a fairly slim and agile person. Suzanne. Fritz. Taryn. Gregory. Or someone Judith didn’t even know.
Beaming the big flashlight on the walkway to the toolshed, Judith reached the ramp that led to the door. She stared. The door was open a scant inch. She could imagine Renie trying to hustle Gertrude to leave as fast as the stubborn, finicky old lady would allow.
The light inside suddenly went off. There had never been a second door in the small building, despite the city zoning codes that required two exits. Judith’s hardheaded handyman, the aging but able Skjoval Tolvang, had managed to outwit—and outlast—the inspectors.
Pausing on the threshold, Judith played the flashlight around the little sitting room. The cardtable was overturned; the floor was littered with magazines, playing cards, and candy. It was unlikely that Renie and Gertrude had made such a mess. And it was improbable that the light had burned out just as Judith entered the toolshed.
She backed out across the threshold and slammed the door behind her, realizing that she could lock it from the outside. The habit of carrying a master key in her pocket served her well. Swiftly, she locked the door, shooting the dead bolt. Like so much of Skjoval’s work, it was tricky, and would take time for the prowler to figure it out.
Renie was just getting the popcorn out of the microwave.
“Coz!” Judith cried. “Call 911 again! We’ve got our perp trapped in the toolshed!”
“Oh, for…” Renie tossed the popcorn bag onto the counter and grabbed the phone. “No smart-ass stuff this time,” she barked, recognizing the voice at the other end. “Prowler alert still in effect. Send cops quick.” Renie clicked off and stared at Judith. “Hey—that twit didn’t mouth off.”
“When she sees our address and phone number come up, she ought to know we’re never kidding,” Judith said grimly as she headed for the back door. “Dare I go on the porch to keep an eye on the toolshed?”
“No!” Renie shouted, coming up behind Judith. “Watch through the window or the cat hole.”
“I’ll take the window,” Judith said. “You get on the floor. I can’t.”
“Okay.” Renie knelt down and opened the cat flap. “Yikes!”
Judith gave a start. “I don’t see anything.”
“I do.” Renie retreated.
“What?”
“It’s the cat.”
Sweetums marched through the opening, huge plume of a tail swishing, malevolent yellow eyes fixed on Renie.
Judith barely took her own eyes away from the window in the door. “Only the bedroom window opens,” she pointed out, “and I can watch it from here. Of course whoever it is could break the windows in the sitting room. I can’t see the third one on the toolshed’s far side.”
“But our perp would have to run in front of the toolshed to escape,” Renie noted. “Climbing the retaining wall between your place and Dooleys’ would be tough, and that hike up the side hill below the condos isn’t easy, either. I won’t even mention the Rankerses’ man-eating hedge.”
Judith shifted her weight off of her artificial hip. “Where are those cops? Are you sure that operator took your call seriously?”
“There’s a brawl that’s probably turned into a riot at the civic center, remember? The police may be tied up,” Renie said, again looking through the cat door. “It’s only been five minutes since I called. Relax.”
“Are you kidding?” Judith shot back. “I’m a wreck. You didn’t go down in the basement. You didn’t go out to the—ah! I hear a car!”
No headlights shone in the driveway, at least not that Judith could see. Maybe they had been dimmed to prevent alerting the prowler. Judith opened the door a tiny bit so that she could hear more clearly.
“Watch it,” Renie growled from the floor. “Contrary to what Bill says, my head’s not made of brick.”
Judith gasped. “Someone’s coming through the little window in the bedroom! Feet, legs first! I think it’s a man!”
“I see him,” Renie said. “Jeez, where’re the cops? Maybe that wasn’t them.”
But a voice called out as soon as she finished speaking.
“Police! Stop where you are!”
“Rosemary!” Judith exclaimed. “Thank heavens!”
The prowler was stuck in the window. All that the cousins could see were his legs and part of his rear end. Rosemary hurried toward the toolshed, gun drawn.
“I’m armed,” she said in a more normal voice. “Can you get through that window?”
Judith could hear only a muffled, angry voice as the perp squirmed and wiggled but made no progress. “Skjoval never did get those windows quite right,” she murmured.
“Can you put your hands behind you?” Rosemary asked.
Silence.
“Then you’ll have to stay there until backup arrives,” Rosemary said. “I’m not coming any closer.”
A stream of unintelligible profanity erupted from the window. The feet kicked, the legs flailed, the rump bumped. With a mighty heave, the window shot up a couple of inches and the prowler slid unceremoniously into the small flower bed next to the toolshed.
“There go your zinnias,” Renie remarked. “Who the hell is it? I can’t see through this damned cat hole.” She stood up.
Rosemary provided the answer. “Lie facedown and spread out. You’re under arrest, Fritz Johann Wittener, for breaking and entering.”
“Fritz!” Judith exclaimed. “Well, well.”
Approaching the prone suspect, Rosemary was still talking. “You’re also under arrest for suspicion of murdering Dolph Ludwig Kluger.”
“No!” The word flew out of Fritz’s mouth as he jerked his head up.
“Huh?” said Renie.
“Thief yes, murderer no,” Judith declared, opening the door all the way as Rosemary cuffed Fritz.
“Then who?” Renie asked as they hurried from the porch.
Rosemary turned as soon as she heard the cousins. Fritz was still on the ground, protesting his innocence.
“I’ve got it all tied up with blue ribbons,” Rosemary announced in her chipper voice. “Backup is on the way.”
Judith saw two vehicles pulling into the cul-de-sac. One was a squad car. The other was a van that bore the KINE-TV logo.
“How did they get here so fast?” Judith asked.
“What?” Rosemar
y’s innocence seemed feigned. “Oh! Goodness, I suppose they picked it up on the scanner.”
Fritz’s voice was pitiful. “Can I stand?”
“Not yet,” Rosemary retorted, keeping a foot on the young man’s leg. “My guys are just getting out of their car.”
And, Judith noticed with chagrin, Mavis Lean-Brodie was emerging from the television van with her camera crew.
“Oh, no!” Judith cried, seeing her sometimes nemesis and occasional ally. “Mavis!” she called. “Quick!”
Rosemary was reading Fritz his rights. Judith pulled both Mavis and Renie over to the recycling bins.
“Rosemary O’Grady’s arresting Fritz Wittener on suspicion of murdering Dolph Kluger—not to mention breaking and entering and perhaps grand larceny,” Judith explained rapidly as Darnell Hicks and Mercedes Berger hauled the suspect off toward their squad car.
Mavis looked mildly interested. “So?”
“I think I know who really killed Kluger,” Judith whispered.
“Thanks for telling me,” Renie snapped.
“I said,” Judith responded, “I only think I know, but here’s who I’ve fingered.” She was still whispering when she uttered the name.
“Ah,” said Mavis.
“Well, well,” said Renie.
Judith had one more bit for Mavis. She gave the anchor-woman a name and number. “Call as soon as you can.”
Rosemary was coming toward them. “Did your cameramen get that?” she asked, gesturing at the squad car.
“Sure,” Mavis replied. “They started taping right away. We’ve got just under an hour before the eleven o’clock news. You want to make a statement?”
“You bet I do,” Rosemary said, preening for the minicam. “This is my first homicide case, and I’ve cracked it.”
Mavis, whose natural demeanor was skeptical, tipped her head to one side. The shoulder-length blond hair swayed gracefully on command. “You’re sure?”
“Of course.” Rosemary scowled at Mavis. “I’m a pro.” She shot Judith a sidelong glance. “You think I rely on luck like some amateur? How about taking some footage of me by the official squad vehicle?” she said. “Unmarked city cars aren’t dramatic.”
Mavis shrugged. “Why not? Move over there. But I’ll interview you at central booking.” She shot Judith a knowing look. “I want this to be official before we air it.”
Rosemary looked dubious, but agreed.
“Okay,” Mavis said to her two-man crew, “that’s a wrap. Let’s head downtown for live coverage. We’ll break into the regular newscast.”
Judith was already heading into the house, using the front entrance. Renie took a detour to collect the popcorn and grab a Pepsi.
“Now what?” she asked, a handful of popcorn heading for her mouth.
“Now we wait,” Judith said. “I’m not going to explain anything until I see the broadcast.”
“Unfair,” Renie said as a couple of popcorn pieces fell onto her bathrobe.
Judith turned on the TV. “Here. Watch Heat. Feel right at home.”
“Of course,” Renie responded, shoveling out more popcorn while butter dripped from her chin. “I’ve only seen De Niro and Pacino face off about two hundred times. It’s one of Bill’s favorites.”
“Joe’s, too,” Judith said, scribbling on some Post-it notes. “I’m glad he was never like the cop Pacino plays.”
“I wish Bill was like De Niro’s bank robber,” said Renie. “We could pay our bills.” She spilled more kernels. “What are you writing?”
“Never mind,” Judith said, reaching over to scoop out some popcorn. “Watch the movie.”
Renie settled back on the sofa. Judith resumed writing.
The movie ended. The grandfather clock struck eleven. Judith clicked the remote, changing the station to KINE. The weekend anchors delivered the first three stories—none of which pertained to Dolph Kluger’s murder—before going to a commercial break.
Renie had polished off the popcorn. “A grilled-cheese sandwich sounds good,” she remarked.
“Shut up and watch the news,” Judith said. “They must be about ready to show Mavis at headquarters.”
They were, announcing breaking news as soon as the cameras came up again on the studio set. Mavis stood in the central booking area, every blond hair in place, Armani suit perfectly draped over her tall, slim body. “KINE-TV has just learned of an arrest in the poisoning case of world-famous music mentor and teacher Dolph Kluger who died earlier this week while visiting the city.”
Rosemary had edged into the picture. Mavis turned slightly. “I have with me Detective Rosemary O’Grady, who arrested a suspect just an hour ago. Fritz Wittener, twenty-one, has been charged with second-degree homicide and is being interrogated even as we speak. Detective O’Grady, would you tell us how you broke this case?”
Rosemary had difficulty containing her glee. “It was my first homicide investigation. Naturally, I can’t reveal all the evidence we have against the suspect. I checked birth records that showed that Fritz’s real father was the late Dolph Kluger. Fritz hated Kluger for abandoning him. The murder was a simple matter of revenge. The solution was arrived at by solid detection and careful gathering of evidence, not only in the homicide case but the theft of a priceless violin bow. While the bow has not yet been recovered, I found evidence at the scene of the theft from a rental home near the site where I just made the Wittener arrest.” Rosemary couldn’t stop looking smug.
“Drat!” Judith exclaimed. “Rosemary never told us that! I figured the thief might have been Fritz because he could’ve taken his mother’s key to Rudi’s house. But he must have left some sort of evidence—footprints, fingerprints, whatever—that Rosemary found and kept to herself. The woman’s a snake! To think I trusted her. At least until the past day or so. I had begun to wonder. She was acting differently.”
“Thank you, Detective,” Mavis said, turning around to look off to her right. “I also see that someone else is being brought in wearing handcuffs. Can you identify that person and the man I assume is a plainclothes law officer?”
Rosemary also turned. Judith and Renie leaned closer for a better look. The prisoner was a stony-faced Elsa Wittener. The detective in charge of her was a solemn Levi Morgenstern.
“Aha!” Judith exclaimed. “Good for Levi! He’s got the killer!”
Rosemary had gone pale. Mavis was trying to edge her out of the picture. Rosemary pushed back.
“Ooof!” Mavis grunted into the microphone before slamming an elbow into Rosemary’s midsection. The detective fell out of camera range.
“It appears that there’s some confusion,” Mavis announced with total aplomb. “On the basis of a tip to this reporter earlier this evening, another person has been arrested and charged with Kluger’s homicide. Elsa Wittener, Fritz Wittener’s mother, is in custody and has confessed. We’ll be standing by for more breaking news.”
“Thank goodness,” Renie said as Judith muted the volume, “Levi got to Elsa right away.”
“I doubt that he had to go get her, even though I gave his name and number to Mavis,” Judith said. “The first call Fritz was allowed to make undoubtedly went to his mother. She wouldn’t let him take the rap for her crime. She probably walked right into the station before Levi could go after her. That ambitious little twit Rosemary withheld the information about Fritz breaking into the Wittener house and stealing the bow before he hid it—or part of it—in our basement.”
“Why steal it in the first place?” Renie asked, bending down to retrieve a few stray popcorn pieces off the floor.
“Probably to get back at Rudi,” Judith answered, “and sell it on the black market to make some money. That would’ve appealed to Fritz far more than marrying an unbalanced heiress like Suzanne. Anyway, he couldn’t have known when he stole the bow that Suzanne was coming into big money.” She stood up, walked over to Renie, and began sticking the Post-it notes on the sullied bathrobe.
“What the hell are you d
oing?” Renie demanded.
“Answering all of your damned questions,” Judith retorted. “I’m sick of this case and these crazy, mixed-up people.”
Renie started peeling the notes off her front. “This one says Fritz bought liquor, Elsa paid big bucks for it, knew Dolph liked brandy, ‘more exotic the better.’ Hey, this is like fortune cookies!”
“You don’t need to read me what I wrote,” Judith declared.
“Yes, I do,” Renie argued. “Your handwriting is atrocious, especially when it’s this small. Here—Rosemary concealed facts from you and Levi. ‘Not sharing with partner—big nono.’ ‘Elsa—poison book—easy.’ Oh. Elsa swiped the poison guide. Easy because she worked there.” Renie paused for Judith’s nod of approval. ‘Floorprints’—what the hell is that?”
“Foot- or fingerprint casts from Fritz,” Judith said, “that Rosemary made at the Wittener house.”
“Next is ‘Where’s the bow?’” She frowned at Judith. “And the answer is…?”
Judith shrugged. “I don’t know. If Fritz stole it, the priceless half disappeared. That’s why he searched the basement and the toolshed.”
“‘Rhubarb old rose.’ Huh?”
“Ruse.” Judith scowled at Renie. “The killer poisoning herself to divert suspicion.”
“Got it.” Renie peered at another note. “This says ‘D’s temper,’ ‘wrists,’ ‘ruined T’s piano.’” She held up a hand. “Wait. I get it! Dolph taught Elsa, had a tantrum, smacked her on the wrists, and ruined any hope of a professional career for her.”
“It must’ve been more than a smack,” Judith said grimly. “Elsa still suffers from her disability. That kind of heartiness Dolph exhibited often coexists with a passionate person’s darker side. That type is often an extremist. I can imagine how furious he could get with an unwilling or undisciplined student. Dolph would lash out savagely.”
“Why did Elsa wreck Taryn’s piano? Pure spite?”
“Probably,” Judith said. “The piano—which both women played—may have been a symbol to Elsa. Not just for her failure to become a professional but maybe a symbol for Rudi. Taryn not only had undamaged wrists, but she also had Elsa’s ex-husband.”