by Mary Daheim
“I know that,” Joe retorted, putting aside his empty dessert dish and lighting the cigar. “But Billy’s hearing is extraordinary. No screams, no thuds. Come on, Jude-Girl, put it out of your mind. The sun’s going down, it was probably in your eyes.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Judith folded her arms and stuck out her lower lip. “I know what I saw.”
“What you saw,” Joe said, trying to sound reasonable, “didn’t produce a corpse. Ergo, I can’t investigate a crime. Finish your dessert, and let’s get the hell out of here.”
But Judith had lost her appetite. She was beginning to wonder if she’d also lost her mind.
THREE
JUDITH COULDN’T HELP it. She cried at Mike’s wedding. The tears trickled down her cheeks as a bemused Joe stood at her side. When Father Francis Xavier Hoyle and the Reverend Harald Bjornstad proclaimed Michael Donald McMonigle and Kristin Ingrid Rundberg man and wife, Judith blubbered out loud.
From behind, Renie poked her cousin. “I could cry, too, but for different reasons,” Renie murmured. “Put a sock in it, coz.”
After the service, Morris Mitchell insisted on taking photographs both inside the church and out on the lawn. The session went on for over half an hour, and Judith was getting nervous. Arlene would be waiting at Hillside Manor, trying to keep the food both fresh and hot.
“Morris,” Judith finally said in a tentative voice, “could we take some of these pictures back at home?”
Morris Mitchell was a tall, gangly young man who looked no more than twenty-five, but was probably ten years older. He had established his reputation in various fields of photography, including portraits, fashion, and commercial advertising. But he had originally made his name with wedding pictures.
“Do you want your money’s worth of memories?” Morris asked, loading yet another camera. “You don’t get to come back later and do this over.”
The phrase “money’s worth” sunk in. Judith knew Morris Mitchell was expensive. Indeed, his schedule was such that he probably wouldn’t have condescended to shoot the McMonigle wedding if Renie hadn’t exerted her influence. In the world of graphic design, Judith’s cousin came into contact with all sorts of photographers. Renie considered Morris the best.
At last, a few minutes after one, the bridal party made the short trip to Hillside Manor. By then, the majority of the guests had arrived, and Arlene had the situation well in hand.
“Wasn’t it a beautiful wedding?” Arlene sighed after Judith had sought her out in the kitchen. “Carl and I were so happy for them. We remembered being like that, right up until our honeymoon, when Carl called me ‘Darlene’ and I tried to kill him.”
The remark was typical, sentimental, contradictory, and good-hearted, with a dash of domestic violence thrown in. The Rankerses were a big, loving family who never seemed happier than when they were chasing each other around the house with large rubber spatulas.
“The food looks wonderful,” Judith declared. “I was so nervous before the wedding that I didn’t think I could eat, but now that it’s over, I’m ravenous.”
“Everything seems to have turned out all right,” Arlene said modestly. “Except for the lutefisk. I couldn’t find it.”
“Oh.” Judith put a hand to her cheek. “Yes, well, the lutefisk came a cropper. I hope nobody misses it.”
Renie entered the kitchen and grabbed an apron. “Hey, Arlene, I’m here to help.” She gave Judith a push. “Get out there and mingle. Everyone wants to talk to the mother of the groom.”
Judith looked uncertain. “I don’t know…I hate to leave you and Arlene to do all the…”
Renie pushed again, much harder, until Judith was forced out through the swinging doors into the dining room. Several guests were proceeding around the big oak table, sampling German sausages, salmon finger sandwiches, teriyaki chicken wings, sliced turkey, and four kinds of salads. Judith noted that none of the congenial buffet-goers belonged to the Rundberg contingent.
“Did you tell him?” Renie hissed in Judith’s ear.
Judith jumped. “Huh? Ah…no. There wasn’t a good time to catch Mike alone. Maybe I’ll have a chance when they get back from their honeymoon.”
“Chicken,” Renie muttered, then reversed into the kitchen.
Judith edged around the line of guests and stood under the archway between the crowded dining room and the long living room. Garlands of white and yellow roses entwined with daisies and lilies and baby’s breath decorated the walls. At the far end of the living room, one of Mike’s friends was playing the baby grand piano. Kristin, who looked more than striking in her Artemis Bohl wedding gown, was chatting with Renie’s husband, Bill, and the Joneses’ sons, Tom and Tony. Mike had a glass of champagne in each hand, and was trying to foist one of them off on Uncle Corky, who preferred straight shots of Scotch. Uncle Al was making hand gestures that looked like a basketball set-shot, Auntie Vance was trying to awaken Uncle Vince, who was snoring peacefully on the window seat, and Anne Jones was tucked away by the bookcases with Nick Satayama. Renie’s mother, Aunt Deb, was holding court in her wheelchair, allowing various family friends to wait on her hand and foot. Gertrude used her walker to bar their way when they approached with yet another morsel for Deb. The two sisters-in-law claimed to love each other dearly, but it seldom showed in public.
Most of the Rundbergs were clustered together between the matching sofas that flanked the fireplace. Their gazes were typically wary. Uncle Gurd, however, had attached himself to Herself, who was resplendent in gold lamé. By comparison, Judith felt dowdy in her simple mint-green silk sheath.
“It’s all very lovely,” Merle Rundberg said as she came to stand beside Judith. “Sig and I are so appreciative of everything you’ve done for Mike and Kristin.”
Judith smiled at Merle. “It was a big job, but it seems to have turned out fine. Let’s hope this is just the first of many happy moments for them.”
Merle nodded as both mothers’ gazes moved from Kristin to Mike and back again. “Marriage is a hard job. But Kristin is a hard worker. I think Mike is, too.”
Mike was now talking to Joe. Judith felt a surge of pride. They looked so handsome in their tuxedos. “Certainly Mike and Kristin have known each other long enough to be aware of each other’s flaws,” Judith said, accepting a glass of champagne from Renie, who was coming through with a tray. “That’s so important. Surprises aren’t good for a marriage.”
“True.” Merle sipped from her punch cup as she continued to watch Joe and Mike. “It was different in our day. Nobody lived together before they got married, and engagements were usually short.” She sighed, apparently awash with memories, not all of them good. “Mike’s such a nice looking young man. Seeing Mike and Joe together, I realize I’ve never noticed how much your son looks like his father.”
Judith choked on her champagne.
By five o’clock, the newlyweds were off to the airport, the wedding guests had begun to disperse, and the Rundberg contingent had retired to their various lodgings. They would all depart the following morning, which caused Judith an anticipatory sigh of relief.
“Well, I guess that’s it,” Joe said, loosening his tie and cummerbund.
Judith nodded slowly. “I guess.” The house suddenly seemed empty, despite the debris left by two hundred guests. “I’d better change and get this place cleaned up.”
Arlene burst out through the dining room. “No, you don’t! Carl and I’ll take care of that. Carl!”
Carl appeared, his craggy, handsome face bemused. “Yes, Lamb-chop. Where’s your broom?”
“Now, Arlene…” Judith began.
Arlene Rankers held her ground, pretty features set in a familiar stubborn line. “You know the catering business, Judith Flynn. Good caterers don’t walk away from a mess. You go upstairs and relax.”
“But…” Judith protested.
Joe took his wife by the arm. However, he led her not to the stairs but to the front door. A small suitcase sat next to the Vict
orian hat rack. Judith gaped.
“Five years ago, almost to the day,” Joe said, his face very close to Judith’s. “How about a second honeymoon?”
“Oh, Joe!” Judith melted into his arms.
Thirty minutes later they were in the bridal suite at the Naples Hotel. The floral motif wasn’t the white and yellow of Kristin’s choosing, but the more vibrant orange and lavender hues that Judith had chosen for her wedding to Joe Flynn. Champagne had been replaced by an eighteen-year-old Scotch from a deep Highland glen. The view wasn’t of a smooth, sandy beach in Mexico, but of the glistening hometown harbor and the snow-capped mountains to the west. Judith was ecstatic.
It was only later, much later, that she realized she couldn’t see the Belmont Hotel from their rooms. Then, as she snuggled next to Joe in the big canopied bed, she wondered why she cared.
But she did.
Everyone was gone by Monday morning. Everyone except Uncle Gurd. He had remained under the hedge Sunday night, apparently waiting to be awakened by his fairy princess, Vivian Flynn.
“What are we going to do with him?” Judith asked Joe over their second cup of coffee.
Joe shrugged. “He’s an adult. So’s Vivian. They’ll have to work it out. If I know her, she’ll send him on his way, and he’ll feel good about it.”
Ordinarily, Judith would have asked Joe exactly what he meant by such a comment. But she was still feeling euphoric after their stay at the Naples Hotel. Joe was right: Uncle Gurd wasn’t her responsibility. But she certainly didn’t want him sleeping all summer under Carl and Arlene’s shrubbery.
Joe went off to work, and Phyliss Rackley showed up promptly at nine. “Where are all those good Christian people?” the cleaning woman demanded. “They were my kind of folks. I hoped they’d stay long enough to sit down and have a real good talk about Judgment Day.”
“They went back into Deep Denial,” Judith answered absently. She was checking her calendar for the rest of the week. The B&B was booked solid through early August.
“That’s too bad,” Phyliss said, trying to stare down Sweetums, who was sitting on her shoes. “Did you know that your cat is a limb of Satan?”
“Yes, Phyliss, you’ve told me that many times.” Judith shut off the computer that Joe had given her for Christmas a year and a half ago.
“Well, you don’t do anything about it,” Phyliss asserted. “Why don’t you get this place exercised?”
“You mean exorcised?” Judith sighed. She didn’t feel like dealing with Phyliss’s peculiar religious beliefs this morning. “Sweetums is a cat. No more, no less. Are you going to do the second floor first?”
Phyliss took the hint, though with ill grace. Judith went over to the refrigerator and began taking inventory. Hillside Manor’s supplies were definitely depleted. A trip to Falstaff’s was in order. Judith headed out the back way and got into the Subaru.
Heavy metal assaulted her ears, followed by a local grunge group gone global, and then a raucous rap song. Judith drew the line at the fourth recording, which sounded like someone dying during surgery. The thumping bass made her chest hurt.
Judith turned the dial. On a muggy Monday morning in June, she couldn’t stand listening to Harley Davidson’s program another second. Assuming, of course, that Mike had switched back to the station that broadcast the ear-shattering DJ. Judith hardly needed to hear him shout at her to know that it was his show. Mike had driven the Subaru to the wedding while Judith and Joe had traveled in the MG. But Mike was gone now. He wouldn’t be switching radio stations anymore in his mother’s car. Judith suddenly felt sad, but she still didn’t want to listen to Harley Davidson.
It was after ten when she returned home with six sacks of groceries. Judith wasn’t ready to dive back into her regular routine. She was at loose ends, a natural reaction after such a major life change. Halfway through putting the victuals away, she stopped and called Renie.
“What are you doing, coz?”
“Huh?” Renie never completely woke up until ten. At ten-eighteen, she still sounded foggy. “I’m staring at a mug of coffee and wondering where I am. Morning is a stupid concept.”
“Would you go downtown with me?” Judith asked in an unusually humble voice.
“Can’t,” Renie replied. “I mean, I have an appointment downtown at the Belle Epoch at one. I’m working on their fall catalogue. We see page proofs today.”
“Could you go early and I’ll wait for you?” Judith still sounded meek. “We could have lunch.” Any task involving food usually got Renie’s attention.
“Lunch?” Renie’s voice brightened. “Now that’s a good concept. Where are we going?”
Judith hadn’t yet had an opportunity to tell Renie all the details about the man and woman on the Belmont roof. Now she related the incident in full. By the time Judith finished, Renie sounded completely alert.
“That’s really weird,” Renie declared. “Especially the part about Joe not finding any sign of them.”
“He sure didn’t,” Judith replied. “And he looked all around the hotel block. I finally got him to ’fess up yesterday.”
“So what do you want to do?” Renie inquired.
“See for myself,” Judith answered, no longer meek. “I couldn’t do much Saturday night when Joe and I stayed at the Naples. It hardly seemed the time to act like I don’t trust him. And I really do, but I know what I saw. I don’t think he believes me. I guess I want to make sure there’s nothing he missed.”
“He’s a cop, he wouldn’t miss anything,” Renie said, though there was a hint of doubt in her tone. “Okay, pick me up in half an hour. But I warn you, I’ll be wearing my uniform.”
Judith understood that her cousin was referring to her professional wardrobe, which was a collection of eight-hundred-dollar designer suits. When Renie wasn’t working in public, she wore clothes that looked as if they’d been rejected by the homeless. Judith somewhat reluctantly exchanged her cotton T-shirt and slacks for a navy summer suit. It was going to be too warm for long sleeves, but she didn’t want to look like a bum next to Renie.
“If we eat at the Naples, we can get free parking,” Judith pointed out as they drove through the neighborhood that boasted not only a few hotels, but most of the city’s hospitals and a number of older, elegant apartment houses. As Judith drove south through traffic, she could glimpse the downtown towers and the sparkling bay. A century ago. the city’s most affluent residents had lived in mansions on this hill. Only a handful remained, inexorably replaced by more modern, commercial enterprises. As the city swept upward from the harbor, the number of skyscrapers diminished, but this adjunct to the heart of town was an intriguing blend of old and new and somewhere in between. To Judith, it was a neighborhood that visibly marked time, from the late Victorian era to the high-tech glitz of the waning twentieth century.
The courtyard of the Naples was one of the landmarks that hadn’t changed over the years. Indeed, the circular, narrow driveway had been built not for cars but to accommodate horse-drawn carriages. Judith gingerly eased the Subaru past the Italian fountain. As the valet parking attendant opened the door for her, she noticed that his nametag identified him as “Kobe.”
“You parked our car Friday night,” Judith said with a friendly smile. “It was a very old, very well kept red MG.”
Kobe, who was young, outgoing, and a second- or third-generation Japanese-American, grinned in recollection. “That’s one sweet set of wheels. You don’t see too many like that any more.”
“My husband came down later to ask if you’d heard or seen anything odd,” Judith said. “He told me you hadn’t, but I was wondering if since then, you might have remembered at least some small detail that was unusual.”
Kobe laughed. “I see lots of unusual stuff this time of year. First come the proms, then the weddings, next all the tourists. I’ve only worked here since the end of April, but every time I turn around, a limo pulls up or a bride and groom arrive or a bunch of people want me to help them
spring a surprise party on their friends or relatives. It’s kind of a fun job, and it helps pay my tuition.”
“Yes, it sounds very nice,” Judith said resignedly. Apparently, Joe was right—Kobe hadn’t noticed anything peculiar. Judith explained that she and Renie would be lunching in the hotel, but had an errand to run first. Carefully walking downhill in their high heels, the cousins passed the Naples, then turned towards the Belmont. To their astonishment, the old hostelry was a beehive of activity.
Workmen were piling trash into two big dumpsters, a huge truck blocked the side street and was being loaded with furnishings, and a foreman was on a bullhorn, shouting orders to his men. Near the hotel entrance, a sign was being put up. Judith and Renie moved closer, to read the black-on-white lettering:
DANGER—DEMOLITION SITE!!!
This structure will be demolished Friday, June 30.
The notice went on to quote city codes and other details of the project. Apparently, the hotel site was going to be used for an addition to St. Fabiola’s Hospital, which was located on the opposite corner from the Naples. Judith took a deep breath and approached the foreman.
“When was the hotel officially closed?” she asked.
The man was wearing a nametag that said “Hector Pasqual.” His black eyes regarded Judith with vexation. “January first. The place was a fleabag.” He put the bullhorn to his mouth and shouted another order.
The cousins tried to get out of the way, but it wasn’t easy with all the activity going on. Under the warm sun, clouds of dust swirled around the sidewalk. The noise was deafening, and Judith didn’t blame Renie for trying to drag her away by the sleeve of her navy suit.
But Judith wasn’t quite ready to leave. “This is the front of the hotel,” she said, raising her voice over the din. “See the main entrance?”
“Yeah, right, very nice,” Renie responded, choking a bit on the dust. “See the cousin? She’s getting hungry.”
Judith counted the floors. There were ten in all. Certainly anyone who fell from the roof would be seriously injured and most likely killed. “There’s not much of a guardrail on the roof,” Judith shouted. “See that low wall? It’s probably only about knee-high. The woman in the bride’s dress went right over and…” Judith stopped. Now that some of the dust had cleared, she noticed a small balcony jutting out from the top story. It was about six feet wide, serving what looked like French doors. “Coz!” Judith cried. “Look! What if the woman landed on that balcony? She would only have fallen about eight feet. She might not have gotten more than a few bruises.”