Wed and Buried
Page 29
“Tara must be very angry about almost getting killed,” Judith pointed out, then, because the first martini had made her rather bold, added, “like I was with you when I found out Billy hadn’t been cremated.”
“You should have known,” Joe replied matter-of-factly. “We always have to wait for next of kin, even when there aren’t any. So far, no takers. Billy’s still on ice.” Judith grew temporarily silent. “Well, there’s one bright note on the personal side. The stand-off with their relatives scared—or maybe embarrassed—the Rundbergs so much that they’re finally paying the wedding bills.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Joe said, raising his almost-empty glass.
“Me, too. What a relief!” Judith smiled at her husband. “By the way, I want to stop at I. Magnifique’s after lunch.” She nudged the big box under the table with her knee. “I have something to return.”
“I was wondering what was in that box,” Joe said with mild interest. “Doesn’t it fit?”
“It fits.” Judith laughed feebly. “But it’s way too expensive. It’s a Mr. Artemis evening dress.”
“Really?” Joe’s interest increased. “Why didn’t you show it to me?”
“It’s a long story.” Judith accepted a second martini from their server. She didn’t want to admit that she had ended up with the dress as the result of her amateur sleuthing. Nor did she want to confess that it had gone missing for an unnerving length of time.
Joe didn’t press Judith to explain. His mind was clearly still fixated on the homicide investigation.
“I guess you were right about coincidences,” he finally said. “Who would have figured Harley would end up in Deep Denial?”
“Actually,” Judith responded slowly, “we should have. I didn’t remember until after the fact that Darrell Mims told me how Harley and Chuck Rawls got into a big fight over the Ruby Ridge debacle. Harley had strong feelings for survivalists. Maybe it was then that he got the idea to head for one of their refuges. The irony is that I’ll bet he didn’t realize he was having his picture taken. He couldn’t have seen the camera.”
After their server had jotted down their luncheon orders, Joe gave Judith a cockeyed grin. “I suppose Phyliss is taking credit for all this.”
“Not really. She says the Lord works in mysterious ways. She’s merely His instrument. But of course she knew nothing about how the Rundbergs had heard Harley on the radio while they were here, and had admired his political views.”
“Harley didn’t know that,” Joe pointed out.
“No, but it made it much easier for him to talk them into taking him under their wing,” Judith noted. “It was perfectly safe to call himself Harley Davidson. Didn’t you say the IRS was looking for him under his real name?”
Joe nodded. “John Smith. Which complicated matters for the feds. He sold the emeralds as Harley Davidson when he rendezvoused with the buyers at concerts he MC’ed. Who’d bother looking for jewel smugglers during an event with whacked-out kids trying to trample each other to death? And that’s just the performers. Thank God I never worked crowd control.”
When their entrees arrived, Judith and Joe eventually spoke of other things. They were almost finished eating when Judith raised the topic she’d been reluctant to mention for weeks.
“You know, I think the reason I got so wrapped up in this case was because I didn’t want to deal with talking to Mike about…you and Dan.” She paused, waiting for Joe’s reaction. But his expression was noncommittal, and Judith continued: “Then, after I did talk to him and got nowhere, you seemed upset. I didn’t want to think about that, either. So I just kept slogging ahead, and it was very stupid of me, because you and Woody knew exactly where the case was going.”
“It’s what we do,” Joe said simply.
“But I kept annoying you by meddling, and it didn’t do me much good, because you must be still upset about Mike.”
“I’m living with it,” Joe said, fingering his coffee cup. “I always will.”
“Yes.” Judith stared at her empty plate. “And I’ll always live with you living with it. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
“That’s marriage.” Joe put his hand on Judith’s. “There are no easy answers. Not on the job, not in real life.”
“That’s true,” Judith said softly. “That’s the way it is.”
“That’s us,” said Joe, and squeezed her hand.
The designer room at I. Magnifique conveyed an almost sepulchral air on a Saturday afternoon in mid-summer. Everything seemed hushed, as if the impeccably groomed saleswomen were waiting to view the body—or the fall collections.
Judith immediately spotted Portia, the sleek blond who had waited on Renie during the sale. “I’d like to return something,” Judith said in a small voice. Carefully, she opened the box.
Portia recoiled slightly, as if Judith had let a snake out of a basket. “You want to return Lavender Dreams? Oh, my!”
“Yes,” Judith replied, trying to sound firm. “It’s…not me.”
Joe had sidled over to the mahogany desk which served as a counter. “Hey—purple! You look good in purple, Jude-girl. Doesn’t it fit?”
“It’s not purple,” Judith countered. “It’s lavender. And it…”
“Let’s see you in it,” Joe said.
“But…” Judith tried to protest.
“The gentleman has exquisite taste,” Portia purred. “Surely you’ll let him be the judge.” She simpered at Joe and patted her perfect French roll.
“Oooh…” Judith picked up the dress and trooped off in the direction of the fitting rooms. As before, the gown fit, and the lighter shade in the purple spectrum wasn’t unflattering. But of course that was all beside the point. The price tag was still attached, and Judith would flash it at Joe. At twenty-five hundred dollars, he’d get the message.
Arranging the folds and slipping back into her shoes, Judith gazed out of the small, grilled window that looked out onto the hill above downtown. She could just catch the outline of the Naples Hotel. The Belmont was gone, having been finally pulled down the previous week. Judith paused, recalling what the old building had looked like, not only in its heyday, but on the night of the rehearsal dinner. Her eyes widened, and she practically ran out of the fitting room and into the salon where Joe was waiting in a plush armchair with a glass of champagne at his side.
“Joe!” she exclaimed, ignoring the fawning Portia. “I just realized something! I saw Harley try to kill Tara! That’s attempted murder! I can be a witness! Surely she’ll corroborate my statement! Between that and the evidence you already have, you can get Harley!”
Joe’s high forehead creased. “You mean I finally have to believe what you saw on the Belmont roof?”
Judith nodded eagerly. “You bet! You know I saw it! Come on, it’ll work.”
“It might.” Joe’s brow cleared. “Yes, it might at that. Maybe Billy Big Horn will be avenged after all. And Woody and I can close this case.”
“Great!” Judith couldn’t help but twirl around in the lavender dress. Then she remembered the price tag, and leaned close to her husband. “What do you think?”
Joe didn’t bat an eye. He looked at Portia and raised his champagne glass. “We’ll take it,” he said.
About the Author
Seattle native MARY DAHEIM began telling stories with pictures when she was four. Since she could neither read nor write, and her artistic talent was questionable, her narratives were sometimes hard to follow. By second grade, she had learned how to string together both subjects and predicates, and hasn’t stopped writing since. A former newspaper reporter and public relations consultant, Daheim’s first of seven historical romances was published in 1983. In addition to Avon Books’ Bed-and-Breakfast series featuring Judith McMonigle Flynn, Daheim also pens the Alpine mysteries for Ballantine. She is married to David Daheim, a retired college instructor, and has three daughters—Barbara, Katherine and Magdalen.
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Bed-and-Breakfast Mysteries by
Mary Daheim from Avon Books
THIS OLD SOUSE
HOCUS CROAKUS
SILVER SCREAM
SUTURE SELF
A STREETCAR NAMED EXPIRE
CREEPS SUZETTE
HOLY TERRORS
JUST DESSERTS
LEGS BENEDICT
SNOW PLACE TO DIE
WED AND BURIED
SEPTEMBER MOURN
NUTTY AS A FRUITCAKE
AUNTIE MAYHEM
MURDER, MY SUITE
MAJOR VICES
A FIT OF TEMPERA
BANTAM OF THE OPERA
DUNE TO DEATH
FOWL PREY
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WED AND BURIED. Copyright © 2007 by Mary Daheim. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub Edition February 2007 ISBN 9780061755576
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