Wed and Buried

by Mary Daheim

  O. P. could hardly contain himself. “This is just like TV!” he exclaimed in a stage whisper. “Are the cops going to bust that Tara lady?”

  “I hope so,” Judith said. “At the very least, they want to take her in for questioning.”

  A vehicle was drawing up in front of Belgravia Gardens. At first glance, Judith thought it was Perez and Doyle, but realized it was a taxi. “Drat!” Judith cried. “I’ll bet it’s for Tara. She’ll figure out the elevators aren’t working and try the freight car. Where are those cops?”

  “We could go around to the back and trap her,” O. P. said, his eyes growing large at the thought.

  Judith wavered. “You wait for the police. I’ll go to the rear entrance.” Seeing the disappointment on O. P.’s face, she handed over her shoulder bag. “Take this. I may need my hands free. You bring the officers to the back of the condos, just like a sheriff heading a posse. Okay?”

  Reluctantly, O. P. agreed. Judith hurried outside, around the building, and down the path. The rear door was closed, and there was no sign of Tara. Flattening herself against the stone facade, Judith waited.

  No more than a minute passed before the door swung open. Tara appeared, carrying the garment bag and a Channel purse. Judith jumped her from behind.

  “Hold it!” Judith shouted, grappling with the other woman, who was impeded by her belongings. “Sorry, Tara, but you have to talk to the police.”

  “I knew you were police!” Tara cried. “Let me go! I have done nothing!”

  “We’ll…see…about…that.” Despite the encumbrances, Tara was younger and more fit than Judith. The two women struggled on the narrow walk. Just as Judith seemed to be getting a firm grip, Tara dropped the garment bag and flung the purse into the shrubbery. She jerked free with such a violent motion that Judith was knocked to the ground. Before Tara could sprint off in her Chanel pumps, Judith clutched at one slim ankle. Tara also fell, and the grappling combatants rolled off the path and into a clump of prickly Oregon grape.

  Judith and Tara began to slip and slide, ever downward. Digging in with the heels of her Keds, Judith tried to get a foothold while hanging onto Tara. The topsoil was too dry; no purchase could be gained. Judith felt herself falling faster, bumping past rhododendrons, azaleas, andromeda, and several varieties of fern. Halfway down, Tara managed to break free, but both women continued to tumble down the steep hillside. They didn’t stop until they reached Judith’s garden.

  Trying to stand up, Tara let out a torrent of incomprehensible curses in what Judith assumed was her native language. Judith didn’t much care. She was dazed and bruised and battered. Further pursuit seemed out of the question. Tara could run, but she couldn’t hide. And the garment bag remained up on the hill, somewhere in the shrubbery outside of Belgravia Gardens.

  Tara had lost one pump and was removing the other. She was standing like a stork by the toolshed when Gertrude opened the door.

  “Hey!” Gertrude yelled. “What are you doing here? I saw you once before, hauling off that muscle-bound guy. He’s not here now, so beat it.”

  Judith had finally gotten to her feet and was limping across the grass. Tara had turned to stare at Gertrude.

  “Be quiet, old woman! You know nothing!” She started to move away.

  “Watch your mouth, you scrawny twerp!” Gertrude rasped, shoving the walker at Tara who was thrown off-balance.

  At that moment, Sweetums streaked out of the toolshed. He pounced on Tara’s ankles and began to claw. Horrified, Tara reached down to pry the cat loose. Sweetums dug in deeper. Tara let out a howl of pain.

  “My leg! My stockings! Help!”

  Judith had finally reached the walkway. Gertrude turned to see her daughter staggering slightly and clutching her side.

  “Well, dummy, where’ve you been? You’re supposed to take Deb and me to bridge club today.”

  Judith had forgotten that Gertrude was supposed to play bridge. “Later, Mother,” Judith said, attempting a half-hearted dive at Tara. “I’m trying to make a citizen’s arrest.”

  Tara swung an elbow and caught Judith in the side, where her ribs had been bruised. Judith doubled over. Sweetums kept clawing.

  “Now what’s all this?” Gertrude demanded. “Is she a crook?”

  “Yes,” Judith retorted. “She’s a…Republican.”

  With a mighty effort, Gertrude picked up the walker and brought it down on Tara. The blow wasn’t severe, but the supermodel was now entangled in the walker with the cat at her ankles. Tara was still cursing and yelling and struggling when Corazon Perez and Ted Doyle came racing down the hill and into the backyard.

  “Sorry,” Perez shouted. “There was an accident on the bridge.”

  “Grab her,” Judith shouted back, pointing at the beleaguered Tara. “The customs agents want her for smuggling.”

  It didn’t take long for Perez and Doyle to subdue the suspect. It took longer to make Sweetums give up his prey. At last the patrol officers brought their squad car down to the cul-de-sac and drove away with Tara. Under Judith’s guidance, they also recovered the garment bag.

  “I missed all the fun,” O. P. complained after Judith had gone back to the condo to collect the boy, the Subaru, and the shoulder bag. “All I could see was you guys rolling around on the hillside.”

  “But you got Perez and Doyle there in time,” Judith consoled him. “And you knew about that rear entrance which was the most important part of all.”

  “I guess.” O. P. didn’t sound convinced.

  Putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder, Judith bent down to speak into his ear. “You’ve helped capture an international jewel thief. If that doesn’t get you a first class in scouting, it’ll sure make you the envy of the rest of the troop.”

  O. P. brightened. “Can I tell my dad and mom?”

  “Sure.” Judith straightened up. “Well—I guess.” She wasn’t certain how the senior Dooleys would react to their son’s brush with danger.

  O. P. took off, vaulting over the fence as his older brother always did. Judith smiled to herself as she went into the house to check with Phyliss before taking Gertrude and Aunt Deb to bridge club and then heading for the grocery store. It occurred to her that catching crooks and chauffeuring mothers and supplying the B&B were all part of the fabric that made up her daily life. It was unusual, it was astonishing, it was, for some peculiar reason, part of being Judith.

  Phyliss was scrubbing the kitchen floor. “What was all that commotion out in the yard just now? By the time I turned off the vacuum, I couldn’t see much except your mother and that neighbor boy.”

  “It’s a long story,” Judith said, anxious to be on her way.

  “Sometimes I wonder what goes on around this place,” Phyliss said, wringing out the mop. “Frankly, you look like you’ve been dragged through a knot-hole. You’re not doing anything godless, are you?”

  “I hope not,” Judith replied.

  “Some people lead blameless lives—or try to.” Phyliss went over to the kitchen counter and picked up her snapshot. “Like these Rundbergs. Here, take a minute, have a look. I want to put it in my scrapbook.”

  Judith humored the cleaning woman, politely admiring the photo that showed the extended family posing in front of a sprawling structure set among the trees. The building looked as if it had been added onto at various stages to accommodate the growing number of survivalists. A huge American flag flew on the roof and a handmade sign in the foreground read, “Keep Out—Trespassers Will Be Annihilated.”

  “They’re all armed,” Judith exclaimed as her gaze traveled to the cluster of men, women, and children sitting on the front steps, leaning on the porch rail, and peering out from the recesses of open doors and windows. “Even the kids have guns.”

  “’Course they do,” Phyliss said. “They believe in the right to protect themselves. It’s tough being a God-fearing sort and having all those wild-eyed liberals in Washington D.C. trying to take away your money and your freedom. I’ve learned
a lot from them since we started writing…”

  Judith snatched the photo from Phyliss’s hand. “Ohmigod!” She moved closer to the kitchen window. “Phyliss, do you recognize the man in the doorway?”

  Phyliss peered at the snapshot. “Nope. But I don’t know half these fine folks. They didn’t all come over here for the wedding, you know.”

  Opening the drawer under the counter, Judith pulled out a magnifying glass. Carefully, she examined the figure in the background. “Can I keep this for a little bit?”

  Phyliss was reluctant. “It’s the only group picture I got. How long?”

  “Just today. In fact, I should be able to give it back to you by the time you’re ready to go home. Okay?”

  “Well…I guess so. Why do you want it?”

  “I’ll explain later, Phyliss,” Judith said, heading for the back door. “Right now I have to take Mother to bridge and then go to police headquarters. I should be back by two.” Slinging her handbag over her shoulder, Judith all but ran out of the house.

  Judith loaded Gertrude into the car, then drove to the top of the hill to pick up Aunt Deb. Renie’s mother noticed Judith’s disheveled state immediately.

  “Goodness, dear, did you have a fall? Your clothes are all torn and you have dirt just about everywhere. You look as disreputable as Renie.”

  Judith didn’t feel like explaining. The bridge club was meeting only five blocks from Aunt Deb’s apartment, so Judith managed to reach police headquarters before noon. According to Officer Reyes, who was again on duty behind the main desk, Joe and Woody were with Tara, waiting for the feds to take over. Judith cooled her sore heels in the reception area.

  When Joe finally appeared almost an hour later, Judith was not only hurting, but hungry. Her husband hurried to envelop her in a hug.

  “Hey, are you okay?” he asked in a worried tone. “Perez and Doyle told me you went to war with Tara.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Judith said, though she knew her voice was ragged. “Just don’t hug too hard. My ribs are bruised.”

  Joe held her at arm’s length. “You do look pretty rough. If I take you to a dark restaurant could you eat something?”

  “I could,” Judith answered. “But I’ve got something to show…”

  “Where’s Woody?” Joe scanned the reception area. Officer Reyes informed him that his partner was still filling out forms for the customs agents. “Tell him we’ll be at the Shanghai,” Joe called, shielding Judith with an arm as they headed for the elevators.

  The down car was already crowded, but Judith and Joe squeezed in. “Tara’s going to give somebody up in order to cut a deal,” Joe said into Judith’s ear. “It’s you-know-who.”

  “That’s what I wanted to…”

  “Artemis Bohl is out of it—he’s going to be one red-faced dress designer.” Joe chuckled. “He never suspected a thing. And TNT wasn’t involved. He had access to the Belmont, so Tara was thinking of him as a replacement for the missing Billy. Then she changed her mind—not enough smarts. But that’s why she came to pick TNT up at the B&B that day.”

  “Phyliss got a snapshot from Deep Denial, and in the background it shows…”

  “Bascombe or Basil or whatever he’s calling himself wasn’t to be trusted, not even by his own daughter.” The elevator stopped on the main floor. Judith and Joe got out and headed for the street. “She’s fond of him, but she knows him too well. That’s okay, he’ll be deported by Immigration. The fraud charges will be filed in various countries.”

  Judith had given up trying to tell Joe about the photograph. He was obviously flying high over the capture of Tara and the garment bag which had indeed contained emerald-filled cigars in the seams of Mr. Artemis’s latest designs. With a little sigh that hurt her ribs, Judith decided to wait until they were at the restaurant.

  “Meanwhile, we’ve been doing some digging into Esperanza Highcastle’s finances,” Joe went on as they continued south into the international district. “She’s got some big money problems. The woman has no business sense and she’s the kind who won’t listen to sound advice. We’re turning this case over to the bunco squad. Woody and I think she hired those kids to blow up the Heralds-gate 400 building. The insurance on that is way beyond its actual worth.”

  “What about Darrell Mims?” Judith asked meekly.

  “Well…we could be in trouble along with Darrell for permitting the mistaken ID of the body to go public,” Joe said as they began to pass shops and businesses where the facades featured Chinese characters instead of English words. “But neither Billy Big Horn nor Harley Davidson have any relatives that we know of, so maybe we’ll just figure Darrell’s learned his lesson. I don’t expect that either KRAS or KORN will be in business much longer anyway. Darrell’s going to have to take his crusade somewhere else.”

  “Goodness,” Judith said, wishing her entire body didn’t hurt so much. “There’s certainly been a lot of fallout from this case.”

  “There sure has,” Joe agreed as they approached the Shanghai’s red and green marquee with its handsome gold dragon. “That’s one thing about police work—an investigation often reveals layers and layers of stuff you’d never otherwise find out.”

  Since it was going on one o’clock, some of the diners in the busy restaurant were already leaving. Joe knew many of them, since the Shanghai was frequented by city employees.

  “How about dim sum?” Joe suggested. “That’s what Woody and I usually have here.”

  “Good. Fine.” Judith gave Joe a lame little smile.

  “How about a drink?” Joe said, scrutinizing Judith more closely. “You’re beginning to turn some funny colors. Black and blue don’t become you as well as bright red.”

  “Hot tea is fine,” Judith said. “I’ll be fine. Honest.”

  “You sure?” Joe had grown serious, and Judith realized that the change in mood wasn’t only due to his concern for her well-being. She knew that his professional euphoria never lasted long: Even when he’d closed one case, there were always loose ends and dead ends.

  “I know where to find the killer.” Judith spoke so matter-of-factly that at first her words didn’t seem to register with Joe. She read the incomprehension on his face and dug into her shoulder bag. “Here. The Rundbergs sent this to Phyliss.” As Joe studied the snapshot, Judith pointed to one of the open windows. “There he is. It’s Harley Davidson, alive and well, and living in Deep Denial.”

  The standoff between the survivalists and the FBI and local law enforcement officials made headlines everywhere for over a week. When Harley was finally surrendered by his newfound friends, it was Aunt Leota who gave him up. She and Aunt Tilda had gotten into an argument over which one of their late husbands Harley most resembled, and when Leota put it to a vote, Tilda won. In a fit of pique, Leota hauled Harley outside the compound and turned him over to the feds. Because he was blind, Harley thought she was taking him into the bedroom, to what purpose he couldn’t imagine. At that point, the feds seemed preferable to Aunt Leota.

  On the last Saturday of July, Judith and Joe went downtown to have lunch at Ron’s Bar and Grill. Judith wanted to celebrate the successful conclusion of the case, but Joe felt a sense of failure.

  “I don’t know if we’ve got enough real evidence,” Joe told Judith for the dozenth time as they sat in the bar and sipped martinis. “Oh, Harley’ll go to prison for income tax evasion and smuggling, but Woody and I aren’t sure we can pin the murder rap on him.”

  “There’s got to be a way,” Judith said with fervor.

  Joe gave a small shake of his head. “If Harley had stabbed Esperanza Highcastle or Tara Novotny or even Chuck Rawls, there’d be more urgency from my superiors. But a poor homeless bum like Billy Big Horn—nobody really cares. It’s wrong, but it’s true.”

  Judith and Joe had gone over the case so many times that they could recite it by heart: How Harley had run the smuggling ring with Tara, how they’d used TNT’s connection with Esperanza to get into the Belmont,
how they’d transferred the cigars from Mr. Artemis’s designs to Billy Big Horn’s cigar box. And then, when the IRS had come after Harley on suspicion of unreported income from his broadcasting career, the DJ had decided to cut his losses. Between his radio payoffs and the emerald profits, he apparently had millions stashed away. Joe and Woody had found the IRS letters in Harley’s apartment, which Judith realized, had accounted for her husband’s immediate recognition of their own audit notice. The only way Harley could avoid prosecution by the government was to become legally dead. Death and taxes were not merely inevitable, it seemed, but also linked in Harley’s plan.

  His attempt to kill Tara and thus eliminate one of his two potentially talkative partners had failed: Harley hadn’t been able to see the balcony which had broken her fall. Nor had he realized that he’d dropped the emerald that Judith had later found on the balcony. But the encounter with Billy had gone off as planned. It was much easier for one blind man to kill a similarly handicapped victim. And Billy had to die not only because he was part of the smuggling ring, but because he could be mistaken for Harley.

  There had been risks, of course: Harley had planted the idea of his disappearance in Darrell Mims’s suggestible mind. Harley knew that Darrell would get stuck with the task of identifying the body. Even if Darrell hadn’t seized the opportunity, Harley could still make a getaway. Getting himself arrested as Billy had given the wily DJ the means to hear what was going on with the police. After all, he couldn’t read about it in the newspapers.

  “You found Billy’s cigar box and Harley’s ID in the Naples fountain,” Judith reminded Joe. “That’s got to help finger Harley as the murderer. You know he impersonated Billy and deliberately got himself thrown in jail as the safest place to hide until he could make arrangements to get out of town.”

  “Right, sure,” Joe agreed, signaling the bartender for a second round. “Customs can probably nail him on the smuggling, too. Now that Tara knows Harley’s still alive, she’s given him up. But everything else is circumstantial, which doesn’t always go down in court.”