Wed and Buried

by Mary Daheim

  Judith smiled, summoning up good cheer from her reserves. “Never mind, Cecil. I’ll remind her. Just drop the letter off with the rest of our stuff and I’ll give it to her.”

  Cecil went off on his route while Judith gathered up her purse, then headed for her car, which was parked a few doors down the street. Ten minutes later she was in the Gem Shop, placing the uncut emeralds on a chamois cloth.

  “Good grief,” gasped Donna Weick, who owned the store with her husband, Arnold. “Where on earth did you get these?”

  Judith winced. “If I said I found them, would you believe me?”

  Donna, however, had served Judith and other Grover family members for almost twenty years. “I guess I’d have to,” she said in an awed tone. “Dare I ask where?”

  “No.” Judith flushed a bit. “It has to do with a police investigation. My husband, you know. But they’re authentic?”

  To Judith’s surprise, Donna came out from behind the counter, locked the front door, and hung up the “Closed” sign. “I’m not taking any chances,” she said in a more normal tone. “You might have been followed. Putting these things in a sandwich bag isn’t the proper way to transport them.”

  “It was all I had,” Judith gulped.

  Donna, a big, handsome woman in her late forties, nodded with indulgent good humor. “Okay. Let’s go to the back of the shop. Arnie and I are both certified gemologists, so we’ve got equipment. You know—a refractive index, a polariscope, a special dark field illuminator.”

  Judith had no idea what Donna was talking about but docilely followed the store owner. The back room looked like part laboratory, part workshop, and part storage. While Donna examined the stones, Judith stood quietly, with her hands clasped in front of her.

  Twenty minutes passed before Donna sat back in her chair, rubbed her eyes, and then put a hand over her heart. “Beautiful,” she breathed. “I can’t test for hardness, because we don’t have a dichroscope or a spectroscope. You never test cut stones, which is all that Arnie and I usually see. These are really excellent quality. I’d guess that they come from Colombia. Most emeralds do these days, though some have been found in North Carolina. The largest stones are Siberian.”

  Judith carefully leaned against the work counter. “Can you give me any idea of what they’d be worth?”

  Donna fingered her full upper lip. “Not specifically. But offhand—and this is a very conservative estimate—I’d say that you’re looking at close to two million dollars, wholesale.”

  “Yikes!” Judith staggered at the sum. “You mean…I’ve been carrying two million bucks worth of emeralds around in a sandwich bag?”

  Donna nodded. “That’s why I was so astonished. If I were you, I’d get a police escort to take me home. Or put them in a bank right now. Unless, of course, the police want them back.” Donna’s voice sounded dubious.

  “Goodness!” Judith paced the small open area. “I don’t know what to do.” She glanced at her watch, which told her it was not quite noon. If she had any sense, she’d go straight to headquarters and hand the emeralds over to Joe. “Yes,” she said, more to herself than to Donna, “I’m going to get rid of these right away. Thanks, Donna. I really appreciate your help.”

  Donna seemed loathe to part with the uncut stones. “If you—or whoever—wants to unload one or two of those, call me. I’d mortgage the kids to get my hands on emeralds like that. The market’s very good. Arnie’s been hearing about some big sales in the Bay Area.”

  Judith’s ears tingled. “Cut or uncut?”

  “Both.” Donna was now eyeing the emeralds speculatively. “I wonder.”

  So did Judith. But Donna knew nothing more, except that a handful of San Francisco jewelers, both wholesale and retail, had been selling more emeralds than usual. “Not enough to flood the market and devalue the price,” Donna added, “but sufficient to make shop-owners like Arnie and me green with envy. Excuse the expression.”

  As Judith headed downtown, she could have sworn that every car that pulled up alongside of her, every pedestrian walking in a crosswalk, every person gazing out of a store-front window was hatching a plan to accost her and steal the emeralds. A gypsy cab with a bearded driver seemed to be following her from the bottom of Heraldsgate Hill, though he finally turned off near Nordquist’s. At one long stoplight in midtown, a rowdy group of teenagers pounded on her hood as they danced through the intersection. They continued on, however, laughing and shouting. Judith arrived at the municipal building safely.

  Parking, however, was another matter. The city, in its infinite lack of wisdom, had allotted only a couple of dozen parking places in the small open area between the street and the building itself. Visitors were expected to find a nearby garage or drive around in circles until something opened up on a meter. Judith had always figured it was a cunning plan to discourage citizens from making pests of themselves.

  Judith was not going to go around in circles while she had two million dollars worth of emeralds in her purse. Noting a vacant space marked “Deputy Mayor” next to the main entrance, she pulled in and got out of the car. Then, recalling her near-disaster outside of Red Fog recording studios, she scribbled a note and left it on her windshield. “Delivering vital homicide-smuggling evidence,” the note said. She had underlined “vital” three times.

  The air-conditioning in the city building never worked properly, or so Joe often complained. Judith noticed that the halls seemed stale, stuffy, and fractionally overwarm. She got into an elevator with a dozen other people, all of whom looked like purse-snatchers or pickpockets, but were probably ordinary city employees who lacked sufficient ambition to commit a felony. Clutching her purse as if it were a newborn baby, she headed for the homicide division.

  Joe and Woody were out. Gritting her teeth, Judith said she’d wait. The reception area was a busy place, and Judith recognized several of the police and city personnel who passed by. She was not, however, in a mood to chat. Her fingers dug into the purse’s black leather; tension, if not the inadequate air-conditioning, was making her perspire.

  “I know you!” exclaimed a vaguely familiar voice.

  Judith looked up to see TNT Tenino, wearing shorts and a tank top that exposed his impressive muscles. “Hello, Mr. Tenino,” she responded nervously. “What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t know,” TNT answered, gazing vaguely up at the fluorescent lighting that turned him and everyone else a sickly shade of chartreuse. “I was trying to find the divorce filings. But that’s the county, not the city, right?”

  “I think so,” Judith replied. “Is…are you and your wife divorcing?”

  TNT sat down in the chair next to Judith. “I heard she filed yesterday,” he said in a weary voice. “But I haven’t been served with any papers. I’d like to know before I leave town.”

  “You’re going away?” Judith asked in surprise.

  TNT nodded. “Business. I’ll be gone a couple of weeks. It’s a good thing my expenses are covered. Otherwise, I’d be out of luck.”

  “I see,” Judith said, though she didn’t quite. Still, a glimmer of an idea flickered through her brain. “Where are you going?”

  “San Jose,” TNT responded. “There’s a good boxing club in the area. I check out promising kids for a couple of local promoters.”

  Judith was disappointed. Somehow, she’d expected TNT to say that he was heading for Colombia or Santa Teresa del Fiore or even Siberia. “How interesting,” she said, hoping she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt. “I was wondering—where did you stay after you left Hillside Manor last week?”

  “Hillside Manor?” TNT seemed puzzled. “Oh—is that your place? I bunked with a pal for a few days.”

  “Ms. Novotny?” Judith murmured.

  TNT shook his head. “She picked me up, but that was only because I needed a ride. The pal’s a guy who works at KRAS. Darrell Mims—he’s filling in for Harley Davidson, I guess. But he doesn’t have Harley’s style. Style’s really important, i
n boxing, and everything else. Espy has style. Class, too. It’s a shame she can’t afford to keep me.”

  “I thought she’d been unfaithful,” Judith said, then took in the import of TNT’s words. “Are you saying she’s no longer rich?”

  TNT drooped in the chair, as if his wife’s cash flow and his energy were synonymous. “That’s what she tells me. Sometimes I don’t think she’s too bright. At least not when it comes to business stuff. You got to be savvy to be in business, right? I mean, it’s like boxing—your fists’ll only get you so far. You got to be savvy in the ring. Espy’s got a glass jaw when it comes to swimming with the money sharks.”

  The mixed metaphor was a little hazy, but Judith knew what TNT was trying to say. As she recalled, Esperanza Highcastle had inherited the hot dog empire. Her father—or maybe it was her grandfather, Judith couldn’t remember which—had founded the company and built it into a successful regional concern. Perhaps Esperanza had inherited the business, but not the business sense.

  “Surely she must have investments,” Judith offered as more familiar faces trudged past, though none of them belonged to Joe or Woody. “The radio stations are doing okay, aren’t they?”

  “So-so.” TNT seemed dejected by his wife’s broadcasting enterprises. “Without Harley, KRAS’ll lose money. Like I said, Darrell’s a good guy, but he’s no teenage-type DJ. Maybe Espy should switch to a call-in format. A sports show—that’d be good.” TNT brightened at the idea. “I could call in with boxing questions.”

  Though not concentrating on the ring, Judith’s mind was dancing around in circles. Caught offguard, she noticed that TNT was rising from his chair. “I’d better go across the street to the county building,” he said. “I wish Espy’d just sit down and talk to me about all this. Maybe she could explain about those other guys. I really get confused when she talks about getting it on with Babe Ruth and King Tut.”

  “Maybe they’re just friends,” Judith suggested with a straight face. “By the way, did you know she came to get you at Hillside Manor?”

  TNT’s close-set eyes sparked with interest. “She did? Was she mad? Or glad?”

  Judith thought back to her brief encounter with Esperanza Highcastle. “Neither. She was disappointed, I think. Because you’d left.” Noting that TNT seemed touched by the news, Judith couldn’t help but smile kindly. “I doubt that she would have come if she didn’t care. But she indicated that she knew where to find you. She said you must have gone to the Belmont. Why would she have thought that?”

  TNT rubbed at his low forehead. “Maybe because I told her I’d keep a look-out on that demolition crew. They’re stalling, and it bugs Espy. Maybe it’s because of the cops.” His eyes darted warily around the waiting room, as if he expected to be arrested for mentioning the police in anything but a laudatory manner.

  Judith was puzzled. “Why should your wife care about the Belmont’s demolition?”

  Edging toward the elevators, TNT’s attention seemed to be wandering from Judith. “Huh? Oh, because she owns it. See you around.” He hurried off as two sets of elevator doors opened.

  Judith realized that she should have known. Chuck Rawls had mentioned that Esperanza Highcastle seemed to be in the business of tearing things down. The hot dog plant couldn’t have been the only edifice that was doomed to the wrecking ball.

  Anxiously, Judith checked her purse. The emeralds were still in place, tucked into the flimsy sandwich bag. She was about to resume her vigil when Joe and Woody stepped out from one of the elevators.

  They had Bascombe de Tourville with them, and he was wearing handcuffs.

  SIXTEEN

  JUDITH DIDN’T KNOW what to do. She could hardly wave the emeralds at her husband while he had the alleged owner in custody. Besides, Joe looked grim and very businesslike. Both he and Woody appeared not to notice her, but walked briskly by the row of visitors’ chairs. A moment later, they had disappeared behind the reception desk and down the hall that led to the booking and interrogation rooms.

  She supposed she could wait some more, but one pair of B&B guests had announced their intention of arriving before the usual check-in time. Judith felt she should get home.

  Approaching the reception desk, she smiled at the uniformed young woman whose nameplate indicated that she was Officer Mariana Reyes. “I’ve an unusual request,” Judith said after identifying herself as Joe Flynn’s wife. “I think I have some evidence concerning a case my husband is working on.”

  Mariana Reyes’s brown eyes flickered. “Is that so?” she said in a smooth, calm voice. “May I see your identification, please?”

  “My…?” Judith gaped at the officer, then fumbled in her purse. The sandwich bag fell to the floor. One of the emeralds rolled out, heading toward the Grecian-sandaled feet of an oncoming visitor. “Look out!” Judith cried, diving after the stone. Her arm darted between trim ankles, upsetting the newcomer who fell on top of Judith.

  “My leg!” the victim cried. “My arm! My back! I’ll sue!”

  Immobilized, Judith could see only one sandaled foot and the soft pleats of a Grecian chiton. “Ooof!” Judith exclaimed, trying to maneuver just enough to breathe. “Uhnh…”

  Apparently Officer Reyes had come around to the other side of the reception counter. “Let me help you,” she offered, still sounding calm. At last, amid protests and warnings from her victim, Judith felt the other woman’s weight being removed.

  “Do you know who I am?” Esperanza Highcastle demanded, straightening the pleats of her diaphanous gown.

  “Athena?” Officer Reyes suggested.

  “Saucy! I’ll have your badge!” Esperanza glared down at Judith who had miraculously recovered the stray emerald and was trying to get up. “And you! I’ll see that…” She stopped. “You! This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to kill me! A week or two ago, at the radio station…” She stopped again, narrowing her eyes at Judith’s struggling figure. “The bed and breakfast! You were the one harboring TNT! Why are you stalking me?” Esperanza whirled on Officer Reyes. “Arrest this woman! I want to file a complaint!”

  The minor fracas had drawn a small crowd. City workers, private citizens, and perhaps a crook or two had gathered between the elevators and the reception desk, creating a bottleneck. Now on her feet, but feeling wobbly, Judith surreptitiously counted the emeralds. Though her fingers shook, the stones were all accounted for. Anxiously, Judith looked at Officer Reyes.

  “Excuse me,” the policewoman said in that same calm voice, “but I saw what happened. Mrs.…” She glanced at Judith for confirmation. “Flynn? Mrs. Flynn didn’t intend to trip you. She’s here to see her husband, who she claims is a homicide detective.”

  Judith didn’t care for the word “claims.” Did Officer Reyes mean that Judith “claimed” to be Joe’s wife, or that Joe “claimed” to be a homicide detective? Neither boded well for Judith.

  But Mariana Reyes wasn’t through with Esperanza Highcastle. “How may I help you?” The calm manner discouraged further nonsense and somehow conveyed to the onlookers that they should disperse.

  Esperanza seemed taken aback. “Well! Now that you mention it, I was summoned here to press charges.” The disheveled curls tumbled around Esperanza’s shoulders as she turned to glower at Judith. “Not with regard to her, but some juvenile delinquents who tried to blow up my radio stations.”

  Officer Reyes checked her computer screen. “Yes, I believe they’ve been IDed by passersby at the scene. Lucky for you. Someone actually got a partial on the license plate. I’ll get a bomb squad officer to assist you.”

  To Judith’s relief, Esperanza now seemed completely caught up in seeking justice for the damage done to the Heraldsgate 400 building. Indeed, she looked both worried and distracted. Perhaps she thought the perpetrators still had a bomb or two on their persons.

  After Esperanza had departed with a member of the bomb squad, Officer Reyes returned her attention to Judith. “You were about to show me your driver’s license?” Still t
he same even, unflappable tone. Judith wondered if a large bomb going off in the reception area might cause the young woman to bat an eye.

  Her credentials having proved acceptable, Judith was informed that Detective Flynn was in the interrogation room. There was no telling when he might be free. Would Mrs. Flynn care to wait?

  Judith already had waited half an hour. She hemmed and hawed, and was about to leave when Woody Price appeared. This time he noticed Judith and smiled warmly.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked in his mellifluous baritone. “Joe’s tied up right now.”

  “I know,” Judith said, so relieved to see a friendly face that she kissed Woody twice. “I have something for him. And for you. Here.” Again fumbling in her purse, she brought out the emeralds. “I found this one on the Belmont balcony—remember? The others were in a cigar.”

  Woody frowned at the stones. “They’re not…glass?”

  Judith shook her head. “No,” she said in hushed tones. “They’re honest-to-God uncut emeralds. I had them checked by a certified gemologist.”

  Woody let out a low whistle. “This is incredible,” he murmured. “Where did you get the cigar?”

  Judith wrestled with the truth, and, for once, fell victim to virtue. “My cleaning woman, Phyliss Rackley, found the cigar at Bascombe de Tourville’s condo. She works for him, too.”

  By reflex, Woody turned back toward what Judith assumed was the interrogation room. “I’ll be darned,” he said mildly. “So de Tourville is mixed up in all this.”

  “Of course.” Judith couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. Then Woody’s meaning dawned on her. “You knew that, though—I mean, why else would you and Joe bring de Tourville here in handcuffs?”

  “You saw that?” Woody’s smile tensed a bit as he leaned closer to Judith and lowered his voice. “Actually, de Tourville may be guilty of several crimes, including immigration fraud. He’s been using a phony passport to avoid extradition, but the original charges didn’t involve theft or smuggling. He’s a con artist, though, specializing in bilking wealthy tourists.” Woody now held the emeralds in his hand and eyed them appreciatively.