by Mary Daheim
“Coz,” Judith finally said in a miserable voice, “I can’t tell you how awful I feel. I remember when Sweetums was attacked by that dreadful dog, and I was afraid that he might not make it. But I kept telling myself that maybe we could find another cat. I realized then that even Sweetums isn’t…um…ah…er…”
While Judith fumbled for words and Renie gave her cousin a baleful stare, a white-coated woman veterinarian came out of the examining room. “I’m Dr. Leone,” she said in hushed tones. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Renie blanched and gripped Judith’s hand. “No! Oh, please!”
The vet nodded solemnly. “We can’t find Clarence. He jumped off the examining table and he’s hiding. Could you come back with us and see if you can lure him out into the open? He’s extremely frisky. What have you been feeding him?”
Renie’s expression changed from grief to pique. “Everything,” she snapped. “That rabbit eats like a pig.” Releasing Judith’s hand, she marched off to the examining room.
Judith collapsed on the brown vinyl couch. She was experiencing the first wave of relief when the door opened and Darrell Mims appeared with a black and white mutt in his arms. Judith and Darrell exchanged startled looks.
“Ms. Flynn, right?” Darrell said. “Gee, what a surprise.” His smile was thin as he proceeded to the reception desk.
His dog, Sound Bite, had gotten into a fight with a German Shepherd. A badly torn ear, an injured neck, and a chewed-up leg were the unfortunate results. Darrell explained this to the receptionist who made sympathetic noises, as much for the benefit of the owner as for the dog, and said it would be only a few minutes before Dr. Leone could see Sound Bite.
“Do you live around here?” Darrell asked as he sat down next to Judith on the couch.
Judith explained that she didn’t, but that she and her cousin had come to the nearest emergency clinic. Darrell responded that he had an apartment just four blocks away, near one of the bridges that spanned the canal.
“This is where I usually bring Sound Bite,” he added, gazing down at the dog, who was lying in his lap and whimpering. “Gosh, wouldn’t you know it? Just when I was thinking that everything was going my way!”
“Oh?” Judith said with interest. “How is that?”
Despite his pet’s discomfort, Darrell managed a grin. “I’m going on air Monday. They’re giving me a trial run as Harley’s replacement. Isn’t that something?”
“That’s wonderful,” Judith declared with a warm smile of her own. “Were you surprised?”
Patting the dog, Darrell nodded. “I sure was. I’d begged Chuck Rawls for the chance, and he finally took my case to Ms. Highcastle. She gave the go-ahead, so now it’s up to me.”
Judith tried to imagine the drastic change from Harley Davidson to Blip Man. “You’ll be doing a different…what do you call it? Format?”
Darrell nodded again, this time with so much vigor that Sound Bite began to howl. “You bet. I’m going in for a much softer sound, and none of that nasty, suggestive stuff. Boy, I can hardly wait.”
The wait was over for Sound Bite. Dr. Leone reappeared with Renie in tow, holding the pet carrier and looking vexed.
“Clarence is fine,” Renie announced. “Like most of our family, he tends to overdramatize himself.”
“Where was he?” Judith asked, rising to her feet.
“In Dr. Leone’s purse.” Renie set the carrier down on the floor. It immediately began to move.
Feeling vaguely cross-eyed, Judith kept one eye on the carrier and the other on Renie, who was waiting for the bill. The receptionist whispered the amount softly, as if it were a secret password.
“Seventy-five dollars?” Renie shrieked. “What for? Clarence didn’t require treatment. Are you crazy?”
The receptionist’s expression was bland. “We still have to charge for an office call, and since this is an emergency situation, it’s somewhat extra.”
“Somewhat?” Renie was practically hopping up and down. So was the pet carrier, which had almost reached the front door. “A regular visit to Dr. Fine is ten bucks.”
“This isn’t Dr. Fine’s clinic, it’s Dr. Leone’s,” the receptionist replied with a touch of spirit. “If I were you, Mrs. Jones, I’d be thankful that you weren’t charged for damages. Apparently, Clarence chewed through the strap on Dr. Leone’s Gucci purse.”
“Gucci!” Renie cried. “Sure, the vet can afford Gucci purses while I’m going to be reduced to carrying my stuff around in a paper sack.”
Judith could see that the argument was going nowhere, but that Clarence was. The carrier had reached the door, and anyone coming through from outside would slam into the rabbit’s transportation.
“Clarence is leaving,” Judith announced, going over to the entrance to grab the cardboard box.
Renie swerved on her heels. “Oh, damn!” Sighing heavily, she rummaged in her handbag. “Okay, okay. I’ll pay, but I’m not happy about it.”
The receptionist looked smug. “Thank you, Mrs. Jones. I knew you’d see reason. By the way, Dr. Leone mentioned that your rabbit is overweight. He’s in grave danger of becoming morbidly obese. I suggest you put him on an alfalfa diet.”
Renie’s mouth clamped into a straight line. “He hates alfalfa. He loves his Fat Boy food, and he’ll only drink Evian water. Do you want his whole personality ruined? Do you want me even more upset? How can we engage Clarence in family fun when he’s grumpy?”
“We have counseling,” the receptionist responded.
“I don’t need counseling,” Renie said. “My husband’s a psychologist.”
“I don’t mean you,” the receptionist said with a slight smirk. “I mean the rabbit.”
The rest of the weekend passed without any sign of Tara and de Tourville, Uncle Gurd, or the lavender dress. Joe and Woody had spent both Saturday and Sunday combing the Belmont Hotel. The only thing they had found of interest was in the room below the one where Harley Davidson had been killed.
“It showed signs of occupancy,” Joe told Judith late Sunday night as they prepared for bed. “Not the kind you’d expect from vagrants, but of ordinary activity. There was a fairly new padlock to keep people out. The nightstand and dresser drawers had been left open, as if somebody had conducted a hurried search. The twin beds were rumpled, and the water in the bathroom sink and toilet ran clear. The pipes into that unit hadn’t been allowed to collect rust.”
Judith, who was shrugging out of her summer-weight cotton robe, asked Joe about fingerprints. Joe replied that there were plenty.
“The dust seeped in there, just like it did all over the rest of the hotel,” he informed his wife. “We’ll see what we can get from the lab.”
“Was anything left behind? You know, like a newspaper or cigarette butts or fast-food bags?”
Joe shook his head. “Not a trace. That’s what bugged Woody and me. Whoever used that room was damned careful to clean up afterward.”
Folding back the bedclothes, Judith smiled to herself. It sounded as if Joe was beginning to take her theory seriously. On Saturday night, she had carefully backed off from discussing the case, not even bringing up the cigars on the Belmont roof. Joe had been tired and out of sorts by the time he got home. But tonight, with the search apparently concluded, he was in a much better mood, and had willingly talked about the two-day canvass of the Belmont.
“A love nest,” Judith suggested as she slipped between the sheets. “Esperanza and her latest conquest. TNT and whoever. Harley and Tara?”
But Joe, who was putting on his pajama bottoms, chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve seen plenty of so-called love nests,” he asserted. “This wasn’t one of them. I’d say this was strictly business. Or politics.”
“Politics?” Judith was startled.
“Sure. Some secret organization.” Joe came around to his side of the bed. It was still drizzling, and the soft splatter could be heard through the partially open window. “Far left, far right, religious cranks, a
cult, whatever. There are a lot of wackos out there, Jude-Girl.”
Judith turned off the bedside lamp. “I suppose. Like the Rundberg relations, and their survivalist mentality.”
“Like that,” Joe agreed, gathering Judith in his arms. “But no love nest. Not like this.” He kissed her temple.
“You don’t seem too disappointed in not finding out what went on at the hotel,” Judith noted, snuggling closer.
“It’ll come together,” Joe replied carelessly as his hands began their magic exploration. “We need to start questioning possible suspects all over again, with this new line of inquiry.”
Judith gently bit Joe’s earlobe. “Good. I was afraid you’d be upset because you came away empty-handed.”
Joe buried his face in Judith’s hair. “I didn’t quite,” he said in a muffled voice. “I found a Cuban cigar.”
Judith stiffened in her husband’s arms. Then she relaxed. The cigar could wait. There was a time and a place for everything. The room grew quiet, except for the patter of gentle rain and the sighs of marital bliss.
Back in May, Renie had volunteered to host the family Fourth of July celebration. Judith had known then that not only would she be worn out from the wedding preparations and festivities, but the honeymooners were due home on the day itself. It would be a zoo at the airport, the flight would be late, and Judith didn’t need the added aggravation of putting on a picnic.
“So,” Renie said as she and Judith pushed their huge carts in tandem through the wide aisles of the local BulkBusters warehouse, “you’ll have Mike and Kristin staying with you for a couple of days, huh?”
“Til Friday,” Judith replied, distracted by a vast display of dill pickles in two-gallon jars. “Then they’ll head for the Rundbergs, and stay overnight. After that, they’ll go on to Idaho, and Mike’ll return to work. Kristin’s new posting isn’t expected to come through until late July.”
While Mike had worked in the Idaho Panhandle’s Nez Perce National Park, Kristin had served as a ranger at Craters of the Moon National Monument two hundred miles away in the southern part of the state. But upon her marriage, Kristin had asked for a transfer. There was no assurance that she, too, would receive an assignment at the Nez Perce site. Still, the newlyweds were young and optimistic.
Renie paused at a relish display, then put a half-gallon jug in her cart. “Mike and Kristin won’t be here long. You won’t have much time to talk to him,” she said in a musing tone. “Assuming you plan to.”
“Yes, well I…” Judith interrupted herself to pick up a quart of mustard. “Maybe I can make the time. That is, if…um…” She gathered a gallon of ketchup to her bosom. “We’ll see.”
The cousins turned the corner, gazing up into the rafters at the tall shelves ladened with huge cartons and packing crates. “You’re not going to tell Mike,” Renie stated flatly. “Chicken, cluck, cluck.”
Judith turned to glare at Renie. “I didn’t say that. But it’s hard. Real hard. How do you tell your son, who has always believed he knew who his father was, that he’d been wrong? How do you admit that you made a mistake—if a well-intentioned one, given the fact that Joe and I were engaged at the time? How do you say, ‘Hey, Mike, meet Dad. He isn’t dead after all, he’s been here all along. Ha-ha.’”
Small worry lines crimped Renie’s forehead. “Yeah, right, it’s tough. And for all his faults, Dan was a good father. Or so you’ve said. The rest of the family never saw much of the interaction, because Dan wouldn’t come near us except for major events like funerals and food fights.”
“I know.” Judith spoke quietly, her shadowy gaze traveling down the row of gigantic cereal boxes. “Crazy as it sounds, I get kind of nostalgic when I come to BulkBusters. Dan really loved it here. Once he bought a ham that was the size of Oregon. We could hardly push it around the store. My, but he was happy that day.”
“I’m sure it stands out,” Renie said with sarcasm. “Dan was happy about four times in the eighteen years you guys were married.”
“Oh, coz…” Judith’s voice trailed away, and in what appeared to be a rebellious gesture, she scooped up mammoth boxes of Cheerios, Wheaties, Corn Flakes, and Grape Nuts.
Aware that her cousin was upset, Renie changed topics. “So what about this cigar that Joe found at the Belmont?”
The shadows began to lift from Judith’s face as the cousins trundled toward soda pop and juice. “It was Cuban, just like the one Kobe gave him. Of course they’re still illegal in this country.”
Renie was struggling with a forty-eight-can case of Pepsi. “So maybe whoever used the room was smuggling cigars?”
Judith hauled down a four-gallon plastic container of orange juice. “Joe and Woody considered the idea. But Joe says that in recent years, Cuban cigars aren’t as great as they used to be. The Jamaicans and at least one other country import much better quality.”
“Good cigars are terribly expensive,” Renie pointed out. “Bill’s practically quit smoking them.”
Now in the household section, Judith and Renie stared at the hundred-pound boxes of laundry detergent. Between them, they each managed to load a carton onto the bottom of their carts. However, they gasped for breath as soon as they began to shove off towards wine and beer.
“Just…a…couple…more items,” Judith panted. “Batteries, film.”
“Okay. Kleenex…napkins…toilet paper,” Renie groaned. “They aren’t…so…heavy. Oh, and the hot dogs and buns for tomorrow.”
Ten minutes later, the cousins stood in line at the checkout stands. Their purchases were piled so high that neither could see the other. Judith leaned against the cart, still out of breath.
The tab came to two hundred and forty dollars for Renie, and almost three hundred for Judith.
“Good grief!” Judith cried after they reached Renie’s Chev. “That’s my household budget for the month! I always forget that while I come here to save, I spend a bundle. Drat!”
“But you did save,” Renie pointed out, unloading the twenty-pound pack of hot dogs and the six dozen buns. Hey, look at these hot dogs—they’re the Highcastle brand, but underneath the regular label it says ‘Manufactured and distributed by Pork Barrel Meats, Chicago, Illinois.’”
Judith also stared at the label. “You’re right. Esperanza must have sold out. I suppose I missed reading about it in the business section. Let’s face it, I usually skip that part of the paper.”
“I don’t,” Renie said. “In my business, I have to keep up. Of course,” she went on in a thoughtful voice, “I might have seen the article and not paid attention. It wouldn’t have meant anything to me until now.”
“We need to talk to the radio station people again,” Judith murmured after she and Renie had finally finished loading the car. “Let’s turn on KRAS. Darrell Mims is making his debut today. He should still be on. It’s not yet noon.”
The music that came out of the speakers was mild compared to what Harley Davidson had offered. At the commercial break, Darrell merely announced the time and gave the station identification. A second song, equally tame, played through. Then Darrell spoke again.
“This is Blip Man, the D. J. with a conscience. Teenagers, if you’re listening to me, you should be in school, so turn off that dial and get back to class. Dropouts have no future.”
The Beatles sang “Yellow Submarine.” Judith and Renie exchanged curious glances.
“He won’t last,” Renie declared.
“I suppose not.” Judith sighed. “Why did they let him go on the air?”
In the vicinity of the downtown ferry docks, Renie braked for a red light. “I don’t know. I wonder what’s going on with Esperanza. Maybe the real question is, will KRAS last?”
Judith gave Renie a sidelong glance. “As I was saying…We should call on KRAS.”
“Call Kip,” Renie responded. “He’ll know something.”
“First-hand information is better.” Judith’s jaw had set in a stubborn line.
“Look,
just because I’m almost done with that homeless project doesn’t mean I don’t have work to do,” Renie argued as they cruised along the waterfront. “I’ve got to get in touch with Morris Mitchell this afternoon about the photos.”
“We’re heading right for KRAS,” Judith pointed out. “We go by their building on the way to Hillside Manor.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Renie countered. “We’ll go right by it.”
“Coz…”
“Damn…”
“Thanks.”
The cousins arrived at KRAS just behind the fire department.
THIRTEEN
AT EXACTLY ELEVEN-FIFTY, a small explosive device had been thrown into the lobby of the Heraldsgate 400 building. Luckily, no one had been injured, though damage was considerable. Passersby had seen four teenagers race away, shouting, “Blip Man sucks!”
The cousins heard the news from Chuck Rawls, who was standing out on the sidewalk, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Damned kids,” he muttered. “Can’t they give Mims a chance? He’s never been on the air before.”
Near the entrance, the firefighters were debating the necessity of evacuating the building while they waited for the bomb squad. At least two dozen spectators now congregated nearby, some of them in the street where they were blocking traffic. Horns began to honk, and motorists shouted. Judith, Renie, and Rawls moved toward the corner.
“Where were you when it happened?” Judith asked Rawls.
The producer gestured across the street. “At Foozle’s. I had an early lunch today.” His gaze didn’t quite meet Judith’s.
“That bad, huh?” Renie murmured.
Rawls apparently didn’t hear her, which was no wonder, with all the commotion going on around the Heraldsgate 400 building. Police cars were arriving, complete with wailing sirens.
“Did anyone get a good look at the kids who did this?” Judith asked as she waved in the direction of the smoke-filled entrance.
Rawls’s high forehead puckered. “I don’t know. Somebody said the car was an older model, dark green, maybe a GM make.” He looked back across the street toward Foozle’s. “I’d better call Ms. Highcastle from there. Access to the building is cut off for now. Excuse me.”