Wed and Buried

by Mary Daheim

  Judith barely heard Renie’s remark. She didn’t care that Uncle Gurd was waggling his fingers in his ears and sticking his tongue out at Renie’s retreating form. She was indifferent to the appearance of Gertrude, who was clumping her way out of the toolshed, yelling that Uncle Gurd was either a woman or a pervert, and that he’d better hightail it out of her back yard or she’d turn the hose on him. Didn’t he know she was a life-long Democrat?

  Judith ignored them all. For the first time since seeing the man push the woman off the roof of the Belmont Hotel, she had a real insight into the case.

  Harley Davidson wasn’t the only victim. Judith was sure that Billy Big Horn was dead, too.

  Joe arrived home shortly before six-thirty looking hot, tired, and subdued. Judith greeted him with a tentative kiss and proffered cold beer. Her husband accepted and collapsed at the kitchen table. His tie had already come off and now he pulled his shirt out of confinement. With one ear attuned to her guests in the living room, Judith fussed over dinner preparations and waited for Joe to speak first.

  At last, he did. “You’re really something,” he said in a strange tone that Judith found indecipherable.

  “Ummm…You’d be speaking of the emeralds?” she said, hazarding a guess.

  Joe nodded. “That, and Esperanza Highcastle filing a complaint against you. She says you attacked her at headquarters today.”

  Judith’s jaw dropped. “That’s absurd! She tripped. Besides, I thought she left after I talked to her.”

  “She came back. I guess she ran into TNT somewhere, and they got into it, which made her mad, so she stomped into the chief’s office and claimed you were stalking her.” Joe’s tone was weary.

  Judith slammed a package of boneless chicken breasts down on the kitchen counter. “She’s a liar! I’ve seen the woman twice in my entire life. Well, three times, maybe. I…ah…ran into her one day at the radio station. Did you talk to the chief?”

  Joe nodded slowly. “He really wishes you’d keep out of official investigations. Frankly, it’s embarrassing.”

  Feeling suddenly weak at the knees, Judith sat down opposite Joe. “But…what about the emeralds? Aren’t they a help?”

  Taking a big swallow of beer, Joe clutched the glass stein as if it were an anchor—or maybe the remnants of his career. “Yes, they are. But Woody and I might have made the same discovery. The point is, the emeralds may have nothing to do with the murder investigation.”

  “But they must have something to do with Bascombe de Tourville,” Judith countered. “Did you arrest him?”

  “No. His scams aren’t in our jurisdiction.” Joe’s expression was bleak. “He clammed up, claimed he knew nothing about cigars or emeralds. The most we can do is turn him over to Immigration and see if they can get him deported.”

  “I see.” Judith had folded her hands in her lap and assumed a humble manner. “Joe, I have a big favor to ask. Just one, and then I won’t ever bother you again.” She finally had the temerity to seek Joe’s face.

  Joe slumped in the chair. “What?”

  “Can you check with whoever handles vagrancy and find out exactly what happened when Billy Big Horn was arrested at St. Fabiola’s Hospital?”

  Joe was obviously surprised. “Billy was busted? When?”

  “The Saturday that Mike and Kristin were married, the twenty-fourth of June.” Judith hoped she looked appropriately meek. She certainly felt that way.

  Joe expelled air from his round cheeks. “I could do that. I don’t know why I should, but I could.” He seemed to be wrestling with internal demons, most of whom Judith was sure looked like her. “Okay. Is Monday good enough?”

  Regretfully, Judith shook her head. “No. Now is best.”

  It would take a simple phone call, and Judith knew it. “Okay,” Joe agreed with as much enthusiasm as a man headed for a root canal. “Why not?” With a grunt, he rose from the chair and went to the phone.

  Judith sat very quietly. In the living room, she could hear her guests, including the cranky couple from Chula Vista, preparing to go off on their evening revels. The chicken breasts still sat on the counter, oozing pink juice onto the kitchen floor.

  “Right,” Joe was saying after a lull where he presumably was being transferred from pillar to post, “you can’t block a hospital entrance…Billy was hostile? That’s weird…Sure, he had to be booked…Right, I understand…Okay, that’s…what?” Joe’s usually rubicund color faded a bit. “That’s…odd.” There was a long pause, and Judith felt her scalp tingle. “No, you’re right…Most of those guys are whacked out on cheap wine and God knows what else. Thanks, that’s all I need to know.”

  Joe set the phone down on the counter and returned to his chair. The green eyes slid to the package of chicken breasts. “Are we going to eat tonight? Despite the heat, I’m kind of hungry.”

  Judith jumped up. “Oh! Yes, sure. I’ve already fed Mother. She wanted a chop. The barbecue’s going, I’ll be right back. There’s a green salad and French bread and…”

  “Peanuts McGoohan said Billy wasn’t the one who was arrested.” Joe’s voice followed Judith down the hallway.

  She stopped in mid-step and nodded. “I thought not. Who’s Peanuts?”

  “A highly unreliable wino and pickpocket who was doing a stretch at the city’s expense around the same time Billy was in jail.” Joe looked vaguely intrigued as his wife turned to face him. “I take it you believe Peanuts?”

  “Definitely.” Judith turned away and headed outside to the barbecue. When she came back into the kitchen, Joe was eyeing her speculatively.

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll bite. Why do you believe Peanuts?”

  Judith sat down at the table where she explained about Uncle Gurd and the harmonica in the Naples Hotel fountain. Joe seemed more shocked by the news that Gurd was back than by his find. Judith, however, persevered.

  “Billy Big Horn would never leave his harmonica, let alone in that fountain. Besides, when Renie told me he’d been arrested after making a scene at St. Fabiola’s, it didn’t ring true. Billy is a very gentle soul. If someone other than Billy was arrested,” Judith added ominously, “then I’m afraid he’s in danger. Or worse.”

  “Like dead?” Joe grew thoughtful. “Why would anyone harm Billy?

  Judith sensed a condescending note in Joe’s voice, but at least he was discussing the case. “He couldn’t have seen anything because he’s blind,” she reminded her husband. “He had to have heard something. Maybe he heard whatever it was at the Belmont or the Naples that Friday night.” Her voice grew uncertain, then she put a hand on Joe’s arm. “You’re absolutely sure that the Belmont has been searched top to bottom?”

  Joe nodded. “Absolutely.” He cocked an eyebrow at Judith. “You’re thinking ‘body’?”

  “Yes. But I suppose it’s not possible.” She rested her face on her fists and concentrated. “The Naples? Did the police search there? Or at the hospital?”

  “No. There was no reason.” Joe winced. “There still isn’t. Your hunch isn’t probable cause.”

  Judith got up and began pacing the kitchen. She stopped by the counter where she kept her bills and reservations and correspondence, and snapped her fingers. “Joe—where’s Harley’s apartment?”

  “At the bottom of the hill, about four blocks from the radio station, towards downtown.” He finished his beer and leaned back in the captain’s chair. “Why?”

  Briefly, Judith looked disappointed. “It was just an idea.” Then she brightened again. “But Tara has a high-rise about a block from St. Fabiola’s, which means it’s a block or two from the Naples and the Belmont. Can you search it?”

  Joe grimaced. “We already did. Woody and I got a warrant this afternoon after we’d interrogated de Tourville and you gave Woody the emeralds. No dead body. No emeralds. No cigars.”

  “You checked Tara’s wardrobe?” Judith leaned against the counter, knocking over a stack of mail.

  “We checked everything,” Joe re
plied. “We’re thorough, we go by the book. That’s how we do our job.”

  “Yes,” Judith murmured, bending down to pick the correspondence off the floor. “Oh—this is today’s mail. Phyliss must have brought it in while I was gone. Good grief, more wedding bills. I hope the Rundbergs are shelling out for…Hmmm…Phyliss must not have seen this. It’s another letter to her from the gang in Deep Denial. I forgot that Cecil said he was delivering it here. I’ll give it to her when she comes to work on Monday.”

  Judith slipped the letter into the frame of her bulletin board.

  She couldn’t possibly guess that the answer to the mystery lay inside.

  SEVENTEEN

  “YOU’VE GOT TO do it,” Renie declared when she arrived the next morning to pick up Uncle Gurd. “Joe or no Joe, you’ve got to report that designer dress as missing. It could be full of emeralds.”

  “But it wasn’t,” Judith protested. “I would have felt their weight. The dress was light as a feather.”

  “Whoever stole it from Ron’s Bar and Grill didn’t think so,” Renie asserted. “Coz, you have to collect on the insurance, and the only way you can do that is to report it to the police.”

  “I know, I know,” Judith said nervously as Uncle Gurd emerged from the hedge wearing U. S. Army combat fatigues. “More to the point, if we knew who stole it, we might know more about Harley’s death. Though I still think it’s fairly simple. Whoever is running the smuggling ring killed him to keep him quiet. But right now I hate to upset the apple cart. Joe seems in a much better mood today. We talked quite awhile last night about the emeralds. I honestly think he was impressed that I’d found them.”

  “He should be,” Renie responded, then frowned at Gurd. “Couldn’t you wear something that doesn’t look like you’re AWOL?”

  “I was at Bastogne,” Gurd growled, getting into the passenger’s seat beside Renie.

  “You smell like you’re still there,” Renie snarled. “Get out, sit in the back seat, you crazy old coot.”

  Despite a show of anger, Gurd obeyed. “Do I get paid for this?” he asked in a querulous tone.

  “Talk to Morris Mitchell,” Renie snapped. “I’m just the chauffeur. And graphic designer,” she added under her breath.

  Judith started to wave them off, but Uncle Gurd had rolled down the rear window. “Where in Florida?” he shouted.

  “What?” Judith strained to catch his meaning. “Florida? Oh! Vivian! Panama City!” But she felt her words were lost on the warm summer air.

  That afternoon, while Joe was checking out his fishing gear, Judith sat down at the big oak dining room table and tried to organize her thoughts about the Harley Davidson case. She began with what facts she knew, but they didn’t seem to fall into any logical pattern. Instead, she wrote down the names of each person involved. She was studying her findings when Renie came through the back door.

  “I lost Uncle Gurd,” she announced cheerfully. “You got any Pepsi?”

  Judith told her cousin to get a can out of the fridge. “Where did he go?” Judith asked when Renie came into the dining room.

  “Who knows? Who cares? Morris and I got the pictures, which is all that matters.” She sat down next to Judith. “We had to dress Gurd up in bum clothes, though. The fatigues just didn’t do it for Morris.”

  “So what happened to Gurd?” Judith asked, finally looking up from the tablet on which she’d made her notations.

  Renie shrugged. “He went to change and never came back. Do you really want to know? I think he’s caused you enough problems.”

  “True,” Judith allowed. “He seems able to take care of himself. But he must have left his belongings here.”

  “They don’t amount to much, from what you’ve said.” Renie drank from her can, then looked over Judith’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

  Judith showed her cousin the tablet. “I started with Harley. I’ve tried to put down anything about each individual that might pertain to his murder. See if you can think of anything I’ve left out.”

  Renie put on her glasses with the scratched and smudged lenses, the efficacy of which Judith always doubted. But despite the blemishes, Renie managed to read aloud:

  HARLEY DAVIDSON

  Blind disc jockey.

  Made excellent salary, much of it outside the studio and possibly under the table.

  Made enemies easily, yet popular with listeners.

  Rumors of drug use/peddling in L.A.

  Seemingly not romantically involved with any particular woman.

  Last seen alive by me atop Belmont; also by Tara Novotny and by killer (assuming she and perp aren’t the same).

  May have gone to Belmont Hotel because he knew smuggling ring met there—killed because of discovery.

  TARA NOVOTNY

  Top model, working primarily, but not exclusively, for Artemis Bohl.

  Travels extensively—could be smuggler, or at least part of ring.

  For reasons unknown, moved out of her apt. and into de Tourville’s condo. Connection with de Tourville? Lovers?

  Until then, lived two blocks from Belmont; might have set up headquarters there for smugglers.

  Could be Killer? Seems too high-strung to carry it off.

  BASCOMBE DE TOURVILLE

  Known to authorities; uses illegal visas, papers to travel under aliases.

  Involved in various scams; wealthy tourist victims.

  Claims not to know about smuggling.

  What is connection to Tara? Smuggling? Lover? Blackmail?

  Connection to Harley? None that we know of.

  Possesses sinister quality that could make him a murderer.

  ESPERANZA HIGHCASTLE

  Highcastle Hot Dog heiress, owner of various properties including Belmont, owner of KRAS and KORN radio stations.

  Accused of being unfaithful by husband; about to be divorced.

  May be in financial trouble.

  No apparent motive for killing Harley—ratings kept her in business.

  CHUCK RAWLS JR.

  Hated Harley, often got into it.

  But Harley was job security.

  Or was Harley a threat to same if he made known his antipathy to Rawls?

  Emerald smuggling? Not that we can tell.

  Where was he when killing occurred?

  Doesn’t seem capable of homicide, but often hard to tell.

  ARTEMIS BOHL

  Internationally-known designer, tied in with I. Magnifique stores.

  Owns Caribbean sweat shop, or so it’s alleged—drop-off point between Colombia (?) and U.S. for emerald-filled cigars? Bohl garments used for transport?

  Mastermind—or dupe?

  Could be killer if he’s running the smuggling ring; ego, single-mindedness, arrogance often typical of killer.

  Does he have an alibi for time of murder?

  Why haven’t Joe and Woody questioned him? (Or have they?)

  DARRELL MIMS

  KRAS gofer, aspiring DJ.

  Didn’t like Harley, loathed crude format and language.

  Ambitious, crusader (crusaders can be dangerous).

  Involved in smuggling? Dubious. Appears too principled.

  Might have wanted rival DJ out of the way.

  Doesn’t seem right for the job—either as DJ or killer.

  TNT TENINO

  Estranged husband of Esperanza, retired boxer, does some kind of boxing-related work on occasion (and thus travels a bit).

  Smuggler? Possibly.

  As dumb as he seems? Maybe.

  Motive? Only if involved in smuggling—unless he suspected Esperanza of cheating on him with Harley, which seems unlikely.

  Have Joe and Woody talked to him?

  BILLY BIG HORN

  Well-known blind homeless person.

  Allegedly arrested for loitering day after the murder; released from jail ten days later; hasn’t been seen since—doubts have arisen as to whether it was really Billy who caused the disturbance.

  Possible second
murder victim? (No known connection to any of the above, but may have had intimate knowledge of Belmont which was sometimes used by homeless people.)

  “Well?” Judith inquired when Renie had finished reading. “What do you think?”

  Renie’s air was apologetic. “Not much. It’s pretty fragmentary, coz. One of the problems is that you don’t have the time of the murder nailed down. Did Joe ever get more specific?”

  “The ME figured between five and ten P.M Friday, which narrows it a little,” Judith said, taking the tablet from Renie. “We know it had to be after eight, because I saw Harley alive around that time.”

  Renie craned her neck to look at the final entry. “You really think Billy is dead?”

  “I’m afraid I do.” Judith underlined the phrase, “Second victim?” “Where was Billy between eight o’clock Friday night and early Saturday morning when he was supposedly arrested for loitering outside the hospital? If it was him, then he had to have stayed in the vicinity. Maybe he sneaked into the Belmont. The employees at the Naples wouldn’t let him spend the night in the courtyard. Joe saw him when he went down to check on what I’d seen through the banquet room window. But by the time we left the hotel, he…wasn’t…there.” The color drained from Judith’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” Renie asked in alarm.

  Judith grabbed Renie by the short sleeves of her shapeless muu-muu. “Coz! It only dawned on me now—Billy was gone by nine o’clock, when we went home.”

  Renie was looking puzzled. “Meaning…what? He missed out on the late-night panhandling?”

  Releasing Renie, Judith let out a big breath. “Meaning he may have gone to the Belmont then. He could have been there when Harley was killed! Ever since I saw that harmonica, I knew Billy had some part in this whole thing.”

  Renie cocked her head. “So Billy decides to hit the hay and toddles off to the Belmont. He can get there because he’s done it before. By chance, he goes up to the top floor—because he enjoys the view even if he can’t see—and stumbles in on Harley and his murderer. Meanwhile, he’s pitched his beloved harmonica in the Naples fountain. Gee, coz, that’s really logical.”