This Old Souse

by Mary Daheim

  “I’d almost forgotten about it,” Anna murmured, “not having lived at home for so long. It’s the third week of June. That’s when the box always arrived. The only thing I remember is that my mother said it came from Uncle Franz.”

  “Uncle Franz in Austria?” Judith inquired.

  “Yes.” Anna looked surprised. “He lives in a small town near the German border.”

  “Kopfstein,” Judith said, but spoke again before Anna could interrupt. “Have you ever met Uncle Franz?”

  “No,” Anna replied. “He must be quite old by now.”

  “An uncle or great-uncle?”

  Anna hesitated. “I’m not sure. I’ve never known a great deal about our relatives. None of them live around here. Except for Aunt Sally, of course.”

  They had reached the main street that led to Hamilton Park. “Take a left?” Judith inquired.

  “Yes, all the way to the lake,” Anna replied. “Go right at the boulevard.”

  Judith glanced to her left. “Broadwood Golf and Country,” she noted, “and Broadwood itself. The woman who answered at the country club had never heard of Frank Purvis.”

  “Why should she?” Anna inquired.

  “Because that’s where your husband met Frank,” Ju dith said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you tonight. Did Phil ever mention Frank to you?”

  “I don’t think so,” Anna replied. “Phil meets so many people in his business. Frankly, I don’t pay much attention. They come, they go.”

  “Frank went,” Judith remarked, “permanently.”

  “That can’t have anything to do with Phil,” Anna said, sounding defensive.

  “The police might think differently,” Judith responded. “They questioned Phil today. I saw them with him at the marina.”

  “Good Lord,” Anna gasped, “you seem to be everywhere.”

  “Another coincidence,” Judith said, turning right onto the boulevard. “My cousin and I like crab. Where to now?”

  “Take the next left,” Anna directed. “There’s a gate to the condo building. Can you poke the keypad buttons to open it?”

  “Sure,” Judith said, rolling down the window as they stopped by a brick pillar. “Do you trust me to know the code?”

  Anna laughed softly. “It seems I’ve trusted you with my life.” She ticked off the numbers to Judith.

  “Have the police talked to you yet?” Judith asked, working the keypad.

  After a moment’s pause, the gate slowly swung open. “No,” Anna replied. “Do you think they will?”

  “Yes,” Judith said, “to cover all the bases. By the way, did you happen to see the license plate on the sedan that was chasing you?”

  Anna shook her head. “I was too panicked.”

  “And I couldn’t see it after we got out of the garage because the car was always too far back,” Judith said. “When do you leave for Milan?”

  “Wednesday,” Anna replied, opening the passenger door. “Hey, I can’t thank you enough. You may have saved my life. It’s only beginning to sink in now. What can I do to repay you?”

  “How about a deep discount on Max Mara?”

  Anna smiled. “You’ve got it. We’ll be in touch.”

  You’re right about that, Judith thought. But all she said was, “Give my regards to Phil.”

  Joe had phoned while Judith was out. He’d left a message saying that they’d hit a snag. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to come home. “I hope everything’s all right at your end,” his recorded voice had said with a touch of anxiety. “It isn’t like you to be gone this late when you’ve got guests. Call me when you get a chance.”

  Joe had called at a little after eleven, Omaha time. It was now one in the morning in the Midwest. But she didn’t want him worrying about her. After several minutes of arguing with herself, she dialed his hotel’s number. When she was connected to his room, he answered in a sleep-fogged voice.

  “I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I’m fine. I must have turned off the phone by mistake. Go back to sleep.”

  “Unhh,” Joe said, and clicked off.

  Judith reasoned the fib was for a very good cause. She was exhausted. Suddenly it occurred to her that Arlene or Carl should have answered the phone. They’d arrived at the B & B a few minutes before Judith left at nine. She looked out through the kitchen window. The Rankerses’ lights were still on. They were early-to-bed, early-to-rise. She’d assumed that once the guests had all returned, the Rankerses would go home. Judith dialed their number, but got their answering machine.

  There was another possibility. The lights had been on in the toolshed when Judith had put the MG in the garage and entered the house through the back door. Gertrude always stayed up to watch the eleven o’clock news, so there’d been no cause for concern.

  Judith went back outside and knocked once on the toolshed door.

  “Come in,” Arlene called in her cheerful voice.

  Gertrude, Carl, and Arlene were playing three-handed pinochle.

  “As usual,” Arlene said with a merry laugh, “your mother is taking us to the cleaners. Carl and I’ve lost two dollars between us.”

  Gertrude chortled. A green visor sat atop her white hair and she puffed on a cigarette. All that she needed to complete the picture were garters on her housecoat sleeves. “These two are real suckers,” the old lady asserted. “I’ve won four out of five games, and put both of them way down in the hole twice.”

  “Amazing,” Carl murmured. “Mrs. G, you’ve got one of the best heads for playing cards that I ever ran into. You ought to join my poker club.”

  “They’re all men, Carl,” Arlene snapped. “And I don’t think our sweet darling here likes beer that much. She certainly wouldn’t enjoy the belching contests.”

  “I just might,” Gertrude put in. “I can belch with the best of ’em. And I can touch my nose with my tongue. When I take out my dentures, that is. Want to see?”

  “No!” Judith cried. “Please, Mother, don’t be crude.”

  Arlene patted Gertrude’s arm. “This dear lady couldn’t be crude if she tried.”

  “Damned tootin’,” Gertrude replied. “Which reminds me—”

  “Mother, stop it!” After glaring at Gertrude, Judith looked at Arlene. “Did everything go smoothly at the B & B?”

  Arlene nodded. “Beautifully. Everyone was tucked in before ten o’clock. Except for the man with the heart attack, of course.”

  Judith blanched. “What man? What heart attack?”

  Arlene was studying her cards. “His name is…” She looked at Carl. “Griffin? Griffith? Gervin?”

  Carl shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “Greenwalt,” Judith said, feeling panicky as she recalled the names on the guest registry. “George and Lucy Greenwalt, from Nashville. Is he okay?”

  Arlene shrugged. “The doctors will know more by morning, after he has some tests.”

  “He’s in the hospital?”

  Carl nodded. “Norway General. Mrs….Greenwalt is spending the night with him there.”

  “Did he have the heart attack here?” Judith asked.

  “Yes,” Arlene replied. “In the entrance hall. He and his wife came in just a few minutes after you left.” She looked at Carl. “Who dealt?”

  “Mrs. G,” he replied. “I’m in. The bid’s up to you.”

  “Please,” Judith implored, “what happened to Mr. Greenwalt?”

  “What?” Arlene turned to glance at Judith. “Oh. We were chatting by the elephant umbrella stand when Sweetums leaped off the banister and landed on Mr. Greenwalt’s head. The poor man collapsed. Just like that.” Arlene snapped her fingers. “I think Mrs. Greenwalt said her husband had a phobia about cats. When he was very young, he was chased by someone wearing a Sylvester the Puttycat costume at a Halloween party.”

  “Hey,” Gertrude interrupted, “are we going to talk or play cards?”

  Arlene patted the old lady’s arm. “Just give me a teensy minute, sweetheart. Y
our daughter seems impatient.”

  Gertrude scowled through her visor. “What else is new? She knows I don’t like to mix cards with a lot of blah-blah. She’s just trying to get my goat.”

  “Anyway,” Arlene went on, with an apologetic expression for Gertrude, “Carl called 911. Naturally, they came right away.”

  They would, Judith thought. All the emergency personnel knew the way to Hillside Manor. She sat down on the arm of the sofa. “Good Lord! I hope he recovers quickly.” Visions of lawsuits danced through her head.

  “The EMTs didn’t seem to think it was too serious,” Carl said, then nudged his wife. “Are you going to bid or what?”

  “Two hundred,” Arlene said.

  “Two-ten,” Gertrude responded.

  “Pass,” said Carl.

  “Hold it,” Judith interrupted. “Nothing else happened that I should know about?”

  “Nothing important,” Arlene replied, concentrating on her cards.

  “Oh, go ahead and tell her,” Gertrude rasped. “Otherwise, she won’t go away and we’ll never finish this game.”

  Arlene turned to Judith. “They arrested Sweetums.”

  Judith almost fell off the sofa. “What?”

  Carl made a face at Arlene before he spoke. “They didn’t actually arrest him. They took him to a vet to see if he’s rabid. If he isn’t, you can pick him up in the morning.”

  “Two-twenty,” Arlene said.

  “Two-thirty,” Gertrude shot back.

  Since Carl had already passed, Judith stood up and leaned over to speak into his ear. “Which veterinarian?”

  “I don’t know the vet’s name,” Carl said softly, “but it’s the Cat Clinique. You know, over in the Langford district.”

  “Thanks,” Judith replied, giving Carl’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Sure.” He looked up. “Who got the bid?”

  “I did,” Gertrude retorted. “For two-eighty.” She sorted her cards, discarded three, and laid down fifteen-hundred trump in clubs. “I’m out again. Pony up those quarters.”

  Judith left quietly, following the concrete walk to the house. But the path that loomed in her mind led to Sweetums and the veterinarian in Langford. Fate was pushing her in that direction, and Judith wondered if she’d eventually find a killer at the end of the journey.

  TWELVE

  WHEN JUDITH FINALLY had time to look at the morning newspaper, she turned first to the obituary section. There still wasn’t a death notice for Frank Purvis. But, as had become her habit in recent years, she scanned the rest of the obits. Judith was at an age where occasionally she’d find one of her peers, often an old school chum. More numerous were the parents of the youngsters she’d grown up with or met later in life. Occasionally it was a guest who’d stayed at Hillside Manor, a fellow SOT—as our Lady, Star of the Sea parishioners called themselves—or some other resident of Heraldsgate Hill. It didn’t strike Judith as morbid. Rather, it was her interest in people and sense of community that compelled her to find out who had passed on. The city had grown a great deal since she was a child, but making a connection, even to the dead, enforced the idea that she didn’t live in a faceless metropolis.

  One surname tweaked her memory: Pettibone, Alfred Earl. She had gone to school with an Albert Pettibone, who was listed as a surviving brother. One of four children, Alfred was several years younger than his brother. Judith vaguely recalled an Alexis Pettibone, one of two sisters mentioned. Alexis had been a couple of years behind her in school. She was only a blurred memory, but Judith did recall Bert, as he was known—a bright, skinny student with curly brown hair and a shy manner. Alfred, a longtime federal government employee, had also left behind a wife, Andrea, and two sons. Remembrances were to be made to the local humane society.

  Just as Judith was about to call Renie, Mrs. Greenwalt phoned from Norway Hospital. George was doing well, Lucy Greenwalt reported, but he’d have to stay until Sunday. She, however, would return to Hillside Manor, since they’d booked their room for two nights.

  “You will,” Lucy said in a soft but firm manner, “have that horrid animal put to sleep. He could have killed my husband.”

  Judith winced. “I’m taking care of the matter this morning,” she said. Maybe the vet could keep Sweetums at the clinic until the Greenwalts were gone. At least Lucy Greenwalt hadn’t mentioned a lawsuit. Yet.

  Having planned to collect Sweetums as soon as the other guests were out and about, Judith called the Cat Clinique.

  “Your pet isn’t rabid,” the woman at the other end said, “but he should be enrolled in an anger management program. There are three different groupings—Ill-Natured, Bad-Tempered, and Incorrigible. Your pet would be put in the third group. You’d be amazed. He could emerge with a Happy Cat Award.”

  “I’ll think about that,” Judith said.

  “You really should. Soon. How soon can you collect him?”

  “Well—I was wondering if you could keep him overnight,” Judith said.

  “Are you kidding?” the woman retorted. “He already bit Dr. Pettibone twice.”

  “Dr. Pettibone?” Judith echoed. “What’s his first name?”

  “Albert,” the woman replied. “He was on emergency call here last night when your animal was brought in. Believe me, he has enough troubles already. His brother’s funeral is Monday.”

  “Oh!” Judith couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “I went to school with Bert. I saw his brother’s obituary in this morning’s paper. I’m so sorry. He was only in his late forties. Was it sudden? The notice didn’t mention cause of death.”

  “Fred Pettibone died very suddenly,” the woman replied. “I have two other calls on hold. Please come get your cat as soon as possible.”

  As soon as the sorority sisters had bounded out the door, Judith called Renie to bring her up to speed on the latest developments.

  “A car chase?” Renie cried. “What are you trying to do? Get a part in an action movie? The next thing I know, you’ll be hanging by your thumbs from a thirty-story window somewhere.”

  “It could have been a coincidence,” Judith said lamely. “It may not have been the same car that tried to run down Anna in the garage.”

  “Ha! You should be so lucky!” Renie paused. “Well, you were lucky—to escape unscathed.”

  “So,” Judith went on after having finished filling Renie in, “would you mind taking Sweetums just until tomorrow?”

  “Are you nuts?” Renie shot back. “What would he do to Clarence?”

  “Sweetums could stay outside,” Judith suggested.

  “Outside our immediate neighborhood,” Renie retorted. “Really, coz, I couldn’t take that chance. If anything happened to our darling bunny…well, I can’t even think about it. Try Arlene and Carl. They haven’t had any pets since their dog Farky met an untimely—and mysterious—end.”

  “Farky was a bit of a pest,” Judith allowed. “But I couldn’t ask them. They’ve already had to bail me out this weekend. And don’t suggest the Dooleys. They have such a menagerie of kids and pets of their own that they’d probably let Sweetums out by accident and he’d be right back here. In fact, that could happen with any of the neighbors in the cul-de-sac. Sweetums is very sneaky.”

  “Hey,” Renie said, her voice brightening, “what about Uncle Al? Mike and the kids are going to be there one more night. I’ll bet they’d like to have Sweetums around.”

  “Brilliant,” Judith enthused. “I’ll call them right now before they take off on their round of playtime pleasure.”

  It was Mike who answered. After getting Uncle Al’s approval, he told his mother she’d better hurry. They were leaving before noon to go to a farm that had pony rides and a petting zoo.

  Judith left the B & B a few minutes after eleven. The feline veterinarian clinic was located only a few blocks away from Uncle Al’s. The woman behind the desk, whose nameplate identified her as Alma Burke, eyed Judith suspiciously.

  “Y
ou wouldn’t happen to be Mrs. Flynn, would you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Judith replied. “I’ve come to collect my cat.”

  “Good,” Alma said. “I’ll go get him.”

  Judith remained by the desk, discreetly observing the people in the waiting room. An older woman stroked a long-haired calico; a teenage girl had a black kitten in a carrier; a young woman in workout attire held a sleek Siamese. Judith wondered if Bert Pettibone was still on duty.

  Alma returned carrying a cardboard box that had holes punched in it. “Here he is,” she said, shoving the box at Judith. “That’ll be one hundred and forty dollars. Cash, check, or credit card?”

  Startled by the large sum, Judith stammered her reply: “C-c-credit c-c-card.” She leaned her head closer to the box. “I can’t hear Sweetums. Are you sure he’s okay?”

  “Define ‘okay,’” Alma shot back. “Yes, he’s just fine.”

  Judith was skeptical. She put the box down on the floor and began to open it.

  “Don’t!” Alma shouted. “Wait until you get outside!”

  “Hey,” Judith said, anger replacing astonishment, “I want to make sure before I fork out a hundred and forty bucks.”

  The first thing she saw was Sweetums’s yellow eyes, glaring like traffic warnings. Then she saw the muzzle on the lower part of his face and the restraints on his legs.

  “My God!” she shouted. “My cat looks like Hannibal Lecter! What have you done to him?”

  “Precautions,” Alma responded. “Let’s see that credit card.”

  Judith fumbled in her wallet, finally producing the card. “I’m paying this under protest,” she announced. “Sweetums better be in perfect condition when I get him home.”

  “Perfectly horrific.” Alma sneered as she scanned Judith’s card. “Really, even though he’s not a young cat, you should train him. Indeed, if there’s an elderly person in your family, you ought to let him or her help. It’s a fact that dogs and cats and older people bond very quickly, and the animal often takes on the characteristics of its owner.”

  Judith narrowed her eyes at Alma. “That,” she asserted, “is why Sweetums is Sweetums.”