by Mary Daheim
Judith was beginning to fidget. “It’s ten to one. Maybe Darrell didn’t get the message.”
“Call him,” Renie suggested.
“I’ll wait until one,” Judith said, fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers. “For all we know, he may not be doing the show this week.”
Only a few seconds passed before Judith spotted Darrell hurrying out of the 400 building. He waited for the light to change, then walked quickly across the street and into the restaurant. Judith waved at Darrell; Renie waved at the waitress.
“It’s really nice of you to invite me to lunch,” Darrell said, sitting down next to Renie. “I appreciate it. Right about now, I’m not feeling very appreciated by anybody else.” His youthful face grew poignant.
Judith immediately became sympathetic. “Isn’t the program going well?”
“Oh…” Darrell cocked his head to one side. “I don’t know. I think it is, but some of our advertisers aren’t happy, and we’re getting lots of calls and letters and faxes saying they want somebody more…more like Harley. Can you imagine?”
The waitress had returned, sparing the cousins an answer. Judith and Darrell both ordered hamburgers, but Renie hemmed and hawed and, to her cousin’s surprise, finally chose the tuna melt.
Sitting opposite Darrell, Judith rested her chin on her hands and assumed a confidential air. “You really wanted this chance to be on the radio, didn’t you, Darrell?”
“Oh boy, I sure did.” The spots of color in his boyish cheeks darkened. “It meant the world to me. That’s why I feel so bad that it doesn’t seem to be…working out.”
“But Ms. Highcastle hasn’t fired you, has she?” Judith’s smile struck Renie as a trifle soupy.
Darrell’s eyes widened. “No, not yet. Oh, there’s been talk about interviewing other DJs, but so far, nothing’s come of it.”
“Why,” Judith asked, dropping the cloying smile, “do you think that is?”
Darrell gave a shake of his head. “I honestly don’t know. I mean, maybe Ms. Highcastle wants me to have a chance to show what I can do. A week or two doesn’t prove anything, really.”
“Then you’re not losing money for KRAS?” Judith asked innocently.
“Not yet.” Darrell smiled a polite refusal as the waitress came by with the coffee pot. “For one thing, I don’t make nearly as much money as Harley did. And advertisers buy package deals, so they wouldn’t pull out until their commercials have been used up.”
“I see,” said Judith with a glance at Renie whose eyes appeared glued to the kitchen area. “Does it really matter to Ms. Highcastle how much money the radio station makes?”
“Sure!” Darrell seemed surprised by the question. “It’s her living. Or part of it.”
“I just wondered,” Judith said idly, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “What I want to know most, Darrell, is why you identified the wrong man at the morgue. Why did you say it was Harley Davidson when you knew it was someone else?”
The color drained from Darrell’s face and his hands began to shake. “That’s not true!” he protested. “It was Harley! Didn’t the medical examiner’s report state it was a blind man in his early thirties? Who else could it have been?” Darrell’s voice had risen to such a shrill pitch that the customers across the aisle turned to stare.
“All that’s true,” Judith said calmly. “But it wasn’t Harley. It was Billy Big Horn, and you knew it. Why, Darrell? Why?”
The silence that fell over the booth was echoed by the sudden quiet throughout the restaurant. It was as if everyone in Foozle’s had heard the exchange between Judith and Darrell, and now they were waiting for the dramatic denouement.
It never came. Darrell seemed to shrivel up and didn’t utter a word. The waitress appeared with their orders, and it was Renie who broke the silence.
“What’s this thing?” she demanded, pointing to her plate. “It looks like tuna melt. I never order tuna melt. I hate tuna melt.”
“You ordered it, honey,” the waitress said in a husky voice.
Renie turned to Judith, who was looking vexed at the interruption. “Did I order this glop?” Renie asked in an indignant tone. “Well? Did I?”
“Yes,” Judith replied irritably. “Now shut up and eat the damned thing.”
Renie let out a heavy sigh while the waitress gave her a smug look and trudged away. “Tuna melt,” muttered Renie. “I’d rather eat cork.”
Ignoring Renie, Judith regarded Darrell with a stern expression. “The police know what you did. Now you have to tell them why you did it.”
“I don’t know what came over me,” Darrell said in a miserable voice. “Harley was missing, so it was possible that he was dead. The detectives—your husband and his partner—said they needed someone who knew Harley to make a positive ID.” Darrell gulped. “Or not. Anyway, they took me in to look at the body. I’d never seen a dead person before. It was upsetting. I could barely keep from closing my eyes. Then, when I finally worked up my courage, the…body didn’t look like Harley. But I thought that was because he was dead. I mean, it had changed him.”
“Can somebody change this tuna melt into a beef dip?” Renie interjected.
Judith shot her cousin a warning glance before speaking to Darrell. “But you must have known better.” The reproach was evident in her tone.
“Well…yes.” The young man nodded slowly. “I guess I did. But I was so upset, and then I remembered what had been going through my mind on the way to the morgue. That if Harley was dead, I might have a chance at his job. After all, Harley was missing. Something had happened to him. He told me that he wasn’t going to be around, and it dawned on me that maybe he was saying that my big chance was coming up. So I thought, What difference does it make? Whoever this person is is dead anyway, and maybe Harley is, too, and if he isn’t, he must not want to keep doing his show, because he hasn’t even called the station. Do you see? All this went through my head in about a second.”
Watching Darrell’s earnest, troubled face, Judith was moved. But she couldn’t let her sympathy show. Not yet. “So you…what?”
“I told your husband and his partner it was Harley.” Darrell nodded as if confirming the statement. “That was it. I honestly didn’t recognize this Billy Whatsisname you mentioned. Anyway, they took me outside and asked some general questions and then they let me go.”
Judith sat back, resting her head on the worn vinyl. “I understand why you did it, but you certainly created an impossible situation. The police have wasted a great deal of time and money on this case. You’ll be very lucky if you aren’t arrested for impeding justice.”
Darrell hung his head. “I know. It’s just that I saw my big chance, and opportunities in radio don’t come along very often. I was driven to clean up the airways and create a more wholesome listening environment for young people. Is that so wrong?”
Judith sighed. “No. But how you went about it is.”
“I know.” Darrell stared at his hamburger which was growing cold on the plate. “You must think I’m an awful person. It’s no wonder I’ve lost my appetite.”
Renie leaned into Darrell. “Really? Then I’ll eat your burger. You can have the tuna melt.” She whisked Darrell’s plate in her direction.
He paid no heed as his sad eyes searched Judith’s face. “Should I turn myself in now?” Darrell asked.
“Call my husband.” Judith removed one of Joe’s official cards from her handbag and passed it across the table to Darrell. “He probably gave you one of these, but in case you’ve misplaced it, here’s a spare. Why don’t you call from the pay phone by the rest rooms?”
Darrell obeyed, moving woodenly. “What will everybody say? What will Ms. Highcastle think?”
“We’re wondering about that, too,” Judith murmured. Then, after Darrell was out of earshot, she added, “I wonder about a lot of things when it comes to Ms. Highcastle. But most of all,” she said, her features hardening as she watched Renie gobble up Darrell’s burger
, “I wonder what’s really become of Harley Davidson?”
Woody had answered Darrell’s phone call. He told the young man to stay put; they’d be out to pick him up at once. The cousins waited until Joe and Woody arrived. Darrell had become even more dejected, though his curiosity was piqued.
“How did you know I hadn’t told the truth about Harley?” he asked, moving Renie’s abandoned tuna melt to one side.
Judith wasn’t sure she should level with Darrell, but decided she owed him an explanation. “Billy Big Horn was a blind homeless man who frequented the courtyard of the Naples Hotel and possibly the Belmont as well. According to the authorities, he was arrested early Saturday morning for obstructing traffic into St. Fabiola’s Hospital. That didn’t sound like Billy, who was a very gentle person. Then, Billy’s harmonica was fished out of the Naples fountain. Billy would never have left his harmonica behind, which indicated that something had happened to him. It finally dawned on me that Harley and Billy were both blind, about the same age, and had beards. One might be mistaken for the other. The truth is, I should have guessed from the start, because Joe mentioned that the tux the victim was wearing didn’t fit very well. Mr. Artemis would never have allowed a garment of his to fit badly at a fashion show. Then there was the missing label from the tux and the absence of Harley’s ID. Why would the killer not want Harley recognized? To gain time, was the only answer I could think of. But if it wasn’t Harley, what was the point? Was it the same? I think so. But I can’t be sure, because I don’t know what’s happened to Harley.”
Looking both chagrined and flabbergasted, Darrell squirmed in the booth. “You mean—you think he’s dead, too?” The young man seemed to brighten at the thought.
“No,” Judith responded, with a firm shake of her head. “What I think is that…” She stopped as she saw Joe and Woody pull into a loading zone outside of Foozle’s. “Never mind, I may be wrong.” Judith gave Darrell an apologetic smile.
Renie greeted her cousin’s husband and his partner with a big smile. “Want a tuna melt?”
“No thanks,” said Joe. “We’ve eaten.” He and Woody remained standing, a pair of intimidating figures looming over Darrell Mims. “We’ve been wondering for a week when you’d come around to telling us the truth, Mims. Let’s take a ride down to headquarters.”
Nervously Darrell got to his feet, but it was Judith who was suddenly shaken. “You’ve been wondering…? What do you mean? I only told you about Billy last night!”
Joe’s expression was only faintly patronizing. “Jude-girl, do you think Woody and I didn’t know what was going on with this guy?”
“What?” Judith rocked in the booth.
“Come on.” Joe placed a hand on Darrell’s shoulder, then turned to look at his stunned wife. “I knew what Billy Big Horn looked like. I saw him the night of the rehearsal dinner, remember? Mims here couldn’t fool me. Let’s go.”
Judith sunk so deep into the booth that her chin almost touched the tabletop. “Oooh! I’m a moron! Oh, coz, shoot me now and get it over with!”
Renie was also looking upset. “Jeez, I can’t believe it! Of course Joe would recognize Billy. But why the charade?”
“Which one?” Judith snapped. “The victim or Joe and Woody?”
“Both,” Renie replied as the waitress reappeared. “But I meant Joe. Why did he string you along? Why did he and Woody and the rest of the department pretend it was Harley?” With an impatient motion, Renie turned to the waitress. “What?”
The waitress chuckled. “You folks sure are having a high old time this afternoon. How about some dessert?”
“No, thanks,” Renie said. Despite her usual ravenous appetite, she wasn’t particularly keen on sweets.
The waitress started to leave, but Judith called her back. “I think I’d like a…martini,” she said weakly.
“Coz!” Renie exclaimed. “Since when did you start drinking after lunch?”
“Since now,” Judith answered glumly.
Renie settled for a root beer. “I’ve got to clean that closet when I get home, and I don’t want to be swizzled when I do it.”
With unseeing eyes, Judith watched the waitress plod away in the direction of the bar. “Joe and Woody must have pretended to believe Darrell because they’re hoping to lull the killer into a misstep.”
“Do you think they know who did it?” Renie asked in an uneasy voice.
“Probably.” Judith sounded bitter.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” Judith eyed the now-cold tuna melt with distaste. “Don’t you? It’s obvious.”
Phyliss Rackley was almost ready to leave when Judith returned to Hillside Manor. The cleaning woman took one whiff of Judith and let out a shriek.
“Spirits! I smell spirits! Have you been imbibing?”
Judith was in no mood for a temperance lecture. “Yes, Phyliss. I had a drink at lunch. I may have a drink before dinner. I’m in a drinking frame of mind.”
Phyliss clenched her hands in a prayerful attitude. “Lord, Lord, Lordy! I never thought I’d see the day! Deliver me from sinful gin! Deliver Mrs. Flynn here from sinful ways! Deliver…”
“Speaking of delivering things,” Judith interrupted in a weary voice, “did you get your letter from Idaho? Cecil left it last Friday. I put it on my bulletin board.”
“No, I’ll get it now. Such upstanding people,” Phyliss asserted, bustling back into the kitchen. “I’ll bet they don’t drink spirits. ‘Course I don’t bet, gambling being as sinful as…” Her voice trailed off.
Judith was still standing in the hallway between the pantry and the basement stairs when the phone rang. Assuming it might be a prospective guest, she forced herself to answer in a gracious manner.
“Judith!” Vivian Flynn sounded ecstatic, a state no doubt induced by the very spirits that Phyliss had just denounced. Or so Judith thought. “I’m calling to say that I won’t be home tomorrow as I’d planned.” Judith frowned, not recalling that Vivian had ever mentioned a return date. Maybe she’d told Joe. It didn’t matter; she let Herself rattle on: “The weather here is gorgeous, none of that nasty rain you have up there in the Northwest.” Was it raining when Vivian left? Judith couldn’t remember that, either. It certainly wasn’t raining now; it must be close to ninety. “I’ve closed the condo deal, and the new owners will be down from Indianapolis at the end of the month. But I’ve got to arrange to have my things shipped. I’ve still got quite a few pieces of furniture and…Ah! Stop that, you devil! What was I saying? Oh, paintings and mementos and a rug I bought at…Silly! You mustn’t…!”
Judith made a face into the receiver. “Do you want me to water your plants and the garden?” she inquired in a tired voice.
Standing at the swinging doors, Phyliss let out a delighted cackle. “They sent me a picture of the whole clan! Didn’t I say they were fine folks?”
Trying to catch Herself’s reply, Judith nodded and smiled at the cleaning woman.
“What?” Vivian was saying, also distracted. “Oh, yes, if you would. I’m not really sure when I’ll…Oh, that tickles!”
Judith was becoming annoyed. “Vivian, could you…”
Phyliss shouted farewell and departed.
“Oh my, you shouldn’t…” Vivian gasped, her voice barely audible. “Oh, that’s too much, you naughty boy! Oh, oh, oh, Gurd…”
The phone went dead.
Judith was as good as her word. By four-thirty, she was fixing a martini when the phone rang again. This time it was Renie.
“Coz! Guess what! Remember how I told you I was going to wait until Bill was in a really good mood before I showed him what I bought at I. Magnifique’s?”
Judith said she did remember. Vaguely.
“Well, he came home this afternoon feeling terrific because one of his masochist patients has fallen in love with one of his sadists, and while I was cleaning my closet I hauled out my boxes from the store and told him we’d have a fashion show and when I opened the last box I found y
our lavender dress.” Renie paused for breath.
Judith’s indifference left her. “You…what?”
Renie’s laugh was truncated. “I guess I grabbed your I. Magnifique box by mistake that day at Ron’s Bar and Grill. Sorry, coz. It’s been safe in my closet all along. Heh-heh.”
Judith slumped onto the kitchen counter. “Oh my…”
“I’ll bring it over tomorrow morning. By the way, you’re right—there aren’t any emeralds or cigars or anything else in the seams. It’s just…a dress.”
I’ve been saved two thousand five hundred dollars, Judith thought. A big fat credit on my I. Magnifique bill. The initial desire to strangle Renie passed quickly.
“Thanks, coz,” Judith gulped. The rattle of the screen door caused her to look up. “Hey, here’s Joe. Got to run. Thanks again. Thanks a couple of thousand.” With hesitancy in her step, Judith moved down the narrow hallway to greet her husband. “Well? You’re home early.”
“Right.” Joe hung his lightweight summer jacket on a peg. “We took Mims’s statement, but we’re up against a stone wall. Now we have to go public to right the wrongful ID.” He saw the gin bottle on the kitchen table and eyed Judith with curiosity. “Are you drinking to forget—or to remember?”
“I don’t know,” Judith replied curtly. “Do you want a martini?”
“Sure,” Joe answered, sinking into the captain’s chair. “Hey—I’m sorry I had to fool you. But we need to smoke out a killer.”
“I understand.” Judith’s tone was still clipped. “So who did it?”
“You know.” Joe stretched and yawned. “Do you know why?”
Judith was by the sink, shaking Joe’s martini. “No.” She turned, her eye caught by the notice from the IRS. A sinking feeling began in her stomach, but was suddenly replaced by a sense of enlightenment. She felt a bit like Buddha in his quest for Nirvana. “Yes.”
Joe evinced only mild surprise. “It’s not too hard to figure out, once you know the circumstances. But the big question is, where do we find our clever killer?”