by Mary Daheim
Renie removed the last note, along with a burned popcorn kernel. “All this says is ‘A’ with a question mark.”
“Andrea,” Judith said. “The police will have to ask Estelle about that. I think she was at the foxhunt. When she first talked about it, it sounded as if she might have been an eyewitness—or at least have seen Blake’s remains. I thought maybe I didn’t understand her correctly. But later, when she got tipsy, she mentioned falling off her horse—as if it was something she actually had done on occasion. There was also her reference to Ichabod Crane, the headless horseman.”
“Gack,” said Renie.
“But most of all,” Judith went on, looking sheepish, “I think Estelle was blackmailing Andrea. I found a checkbook in Estelle’s belongings that showed monthly deposits of twenty-five grand. I’ll bet she was milking Andrea ever since the so-called accident.”
“Wow!” Renie tried to whistle, but, as usual, failed and made a whooshing noise instead. Then she scowled at her cousin. “Why didn’t you mention that before—or to the cops?”
“Because it could have been an annuity or something innocent,” Judith explained. “Estelle’s father was the family chauffeur, remember? Maybe Blake’s father or Blake himself had set up something for his faithful retainer’s daughter. But I’ll bet that Andrea somehow arranged that accident to Blake. How else can you dismiss the fact that Andrea and her riding partner avoided getting decapitated, too? As to whether Andrea’s death was an overdose or suicide, I’m taking the latter. Maybe she wanted to get rid of Blake so that she could finally marry Dolph or at least get back together with him. Maybe she thought her husband’s company was going down the drain and she wanted out before scandal struck. I don’t know. But when Dolph was murdered, Andrea must have felt it was retribution. She wasn’t very stable, either. She decided to take the easy way out.”
“Is that what sent Suzanne around the bend?” Renie asked. “She seemed a little odd, but not crazy until then.”
“The bird in the gilded cage realized she could fly away,” Judith replied. “It unhinged her. She was very fragile emotionally. Heredity, maybe.”
“They were all a little nuts,” Renie said, tossing the notes into the fireplace. “Maybe Gregory wasn’t the only one who should have been kept in the loony bin.”
“True.” Judith grimaced. “And we’re still stuck with Rudi and Taryn. I almost wish—”
“No, you don’t,” Renie interrupted.
“No,” Judith agreed. “I can learn to love the violin easier than I can learn to love Herself.”
Joe and Bill got home on a Sunday afternoon that boasted blue skies and clear autumn air. Their wives greeted them in the driveway.
“We both limited,” Joe shouted before Judith and Renie could get off of the back porch. “Beauties, too. Bill got a thirty-pound and a twenty-two-pound King. Mine both came in right around twenty-four pounds. Who wants fish for dinner?”
“I do!” Renie cried, running over to her husband. “Kiss me, Fisher Fellow.”
“You had a good time, then,” Judith said, hugging Joe.
“Oh, man, did we! It was a little rough out on the ocean, but we didn’t get seasick.” Joe disengaged himself from his wife’s embrace and opened a Styrofoam chest to show off their catch.
The wives oohed and aahed.
“Let’s finish off this roll of film,” Joe said. “We’ll put the fish on this stick and hold them up.”
“Good idea,” Bill said as Joe picked a long, slim piece of wood out of the trunk.
Judith stared. Renie let out a yip.
“Stop!” Renie cried. “That’s the bow!”
Joe eyed the wood curiously. “Why, so it is! Now, how did that get in with my fishing tackle?” He and Bill chuckled.
“Funny guys,” Renie muttered.
“The reward,” Judith said, her dark eyes huge. “Thirty-five grand!”
“Split two ways,” Joe said. “Bill actually found it after I got my rod out.”
Renie was jumping up and down. “Yay! We can pay off Saks! We can pay the plumber! We won’t have to sell the house to Olive!”
“What?” said Bill, looking mystified.
“Never mind,” Renie said.
Joe announced that he’d fire up the barbecue as soon as they unloaded the car. Judith decided not to mention the homicide case until later. By five o’clock, the alder chips were hot, the salmon steaks were basted with butter, and the two couples sat on the patio hearing the men recount their ocean adventures.
“A perfect day,” Judith murmured as the phone rang.
Judith picked up the receiver from where she’d left it on the porch steps. The message was brief. She walked slowly back to the patio with a lame little smile on her face.
“What’s wrong?” Renie asked in alarm.
Judith turned to Joe. “Give me my car keys. The mothers are coming to dinner.”
Joe sighed. “There goes the perfect day.”
About the Author
MARY RICHARDSON DAHEIM is a Seattle native with a degree in communications from the University of Washington. Realizing at an early age that getting published in books with real covers might elude her for years, she worked on daily newspapers and in public relations to help avoid her creditors. She is married to David Daheim, a humanities professor emeritus, and lives in her hometown in a century-old house not unlike Hillside Manor, except for the body count. Daheim is also the author of the Alpine mystery series and the mother of three daughters.
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Praise
Cheers for
MARY DAHEIM
and her hilarious BED-AND-BREAKFAST MYSTERIES!
“Delightful mysteries.”
Kansas City Star
“Judith and Renie are sleuths to treasure.”
Carolyn Hart
“Like Joan Hess’ Maggody series, Daheim’s bed-and-breakfast mysteries show a funny and often stinging insight into people’s relationships and behavior.”
Houston Chronicle
“Mary Daheim is one of the brightest stars.”
Seattle Times
“She is really good at what she does.”
Statesman Journal (OR)
“Kick off your shoes by the fire and get cozy with Mary Daheim.”
Portland Oregonian
Bed-and-Breakfast Mysteries by
Mary Daheim
SAKS & VIOLINS
DEAD MAN DOCKING
THIS OLD SOUSE
HOCUS CROAKUS
SILVER SCREAM
SUTURE SELF
A STREETCAR NAMED EXPIRE
CREEPS SUZETTE
LEGS BENEDICT
SNOW PLACE TO DIE
WED AND BURIED
SEPTEMBER MOURN
NUTTY AS A FRUITCAKE
AUNTIE MAYHEM
MURDER, MY SUITE
MAJOR VICES
A FIT OF TEMPERA
BANTAM OF THE OPERA
DUNE TO DEATH
HOLY TERRORS
FOWL PREY
JUST DESSERTS
Available in hardcover
SCOTS ON THE ROCKS
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SAKS & VIOLINS. Copyright © 2006 by Mary Daheim. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written
permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition June 2007 ISBN 9780061763335
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