by Mary Daheim
“Crikey,” Renie said indifferently. “You’ll get another crack at him. What on earth are you drinking?”
“Liebfraumilch,” Judith said, still annoyed. “Doesn’t Bill sometimes like to have a glass of . . . oh, no! Here comes Connie.”
“Has she confessed to the murder yet?”
“Maybe,” Judith replied. “I wonder what happened to Delmar?”
“Who?”
“Eleanor’s husband. I saw him just before I came—” Judith broke off, forcing a smile as Connie approached. “Hi, how are you? I missed seeing you after your stint at the booth.”
Connie looked puzzled. “Why were you looking for me?”
“I wasn’t,” Judith blurted. “George was doing the looking.”
“George,” Connie said truculently, “fusses too much.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Speaking of which, I heard from Ingrid Heffelman today. She told me not to believe a word you told us. It’s a wonder she let you join the rest of us for our exhibit. She also related a horrifying story about how you were almost killed last winter in your B&B.”
Judith forced a laugh. “That’s Ingrid’s way of protecting my cousin.” She darted a glance at Renie. “Remember that poor man who fell out of his wheelchair and knocked me down?”
Renie nodded. “It’s a good thing Arlene came back with that tomato paste, so she could help you get up. How come Arlene uses so much tomato paste? She must make a lot of casseroles.”
“She does,” Judith said. “She got into the habit while raising five kids. And Carl loves a casserole.”
“So does Bill.” Renie wrinkled her pug nose. “I wish I did. You got any really good casserole recipes, Connie?”
The other woman was looking perplexed. “George doesn’t care for noodles. Here he comes. He’ll take forever to choose a wine. His dream is to have his own vineyard.” Connie moved off to join her husband.
“Twerp,” Renie remarked, after taking a swig of beer.
Judith made a face. “How did Ingrid hear about my near-death experience last January? The media was shut down by the police.”
Renie shrugged. “All it takes is one person with a big mouth. Okay, so what now? Collar Suzie about the late and allegedly lamented Bob? Maybe if she gets loaded, she’ll reveal something.”
“Not a bad idea,” Judith agreed. “She, too, is heading for the bar.”
“She cleans up pretty good,” Renie remarked.
Judith discreetly studied Suzie Stafford as she waited her turn at the trestle table. Her tall, rangy figure was dressed in a black satin blouse and slacks, accented by a double strand of pearls. The dark hair she’d tucked into a net at work now fell gracefully onto her shoulders. “Mourning? Or prowling?” Judith murmured.
“Hey,” Renie said, also lowering her voice, “even you weren’t looking for another husband two months after Dan died.”
“I never was. I just happened to find Joe again two years later.”
Renie smiled wryly. “Reunited over a corpse. How romantic.”
Judith shot Renie a sharp look. “How’s your beer, big mouth?”
“Not bad,” Renie replied, “considering it’s beer.”
“You’re drinking it like you love it.”
Renie frowned at the half-empty stein. “Huh. So I am. Huh.”
“Behave,” Judith whispered. “Here comes Suzie.”
“Good. I can sleuth,” Renie said.
“What are you two doing here?” Suzie asked, holding a glass of red wine in both hands. “I thought you were just passing through.”
“We decided to stay for the Oktoberfest,” Judith replied. “It takes my mind off my late husband.”
“Yeah,” Renie said, “he won’t get here until seven. Ha ha.”
Judith glared at her cousin. “That’s not funny!”
“Good grief,” Renie said. “Tell Suze the truth and get it over with.”
Judith blanched, but knew Renie was right. “Look, Suzie, I have been widowed, but I’ve remarried. Chief Duomo told us about Bob’s death and I’m very sorry for you. But he also asked for our help.”
Suzie looked incredulous. “Fat Matt wants your help? Why?”
Judith touched Renie’s arm. “My cousin Serena Jones is a private investigator. The chief is short-staffed. He asked her to consult not only on Wessler’s death, but your husband’s as well.”
Suzie’s incredulity seemed to increase as she stared at Renie. “You’re a PI? You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Hey!” Renie cried. “Watch it! The spouse is the prime suspect.”
“Back at you!” Suzie shouted. “You look about as much like a detective as I look like Ava Gardner!”
“You look more like Ava’s gardener,” Renie snarled. “Or maybe you look more like Ava now, since she’s dead!”
“Coz!” Judith used her free hand to grab Renie’s wrist. “Stop it! You two are creating a scene.”
Renie and Suzie both looked around. At least a dozen people, including Connie and George Beaulieu, were gaping at the pair.
“Screw it,” Renie muttered. She took another swig from her stein and stalked off toward the stuffed tiger.
Judith felt a hand on her arm. “Mrs. Flynn, are you okay?”
Feeling slightly dazed, Judith didn’t recognize the young man at first. “Gabe! I’m fine. I think.” She saw Suzie stomping in the opposite direction from where Renie had gone. The Beaulieus had melted into the crowd. “My cousin and Mrs. Stafford got into an argument, that’s all.”
“Why don’t I get you a refill on your wine?” Gabe offered. “I think you spilled some of it when you grabbed your cousin.”
“Oh!” Judith looked down at the serviceable carpet and saw a large stain. “Goodness, I didn’t mean to make a mess. You’re right—my glass is almost empty. I’ll go with you.”
Gabe glanced at his watch. “We’d better hurry. It’s six-thirty. Mr. Gruber is giving his mayoral spiel in a few minutes. I don’t know if he’s tending bar solo or . . . he isn’t. There’s the other Fritz from Wolfgang’s.”
Judith had also spotted Barry. “Hi,” she said as Gabe approached Fritz Gruber. “I thought you had to work at the Gast Haus tonight.”
Barry shook his head. “I’m only filling in. Between this event and everybody waiting for the beer tasting, there’s not much action at Wolfgang’s. This is a short gig. Then I’ll take Jessi to the beer garden.” He lowered his voice. “How’s Mom?”
Judith blanked. “Mom?”
“Oh—Suzie. Guess I didn’t formally introduce myself at the bookstore. I’m Barry Stafford, Suzie and Bob’s son.”
Chapter Nine
Judith was stunned. “I’d no idea. I’m sorry about your father.”
“Me, too.” Barry shrugged. “That’s why I came back from Germany sooner than I expected. I couldn’t leave Mom alone. She seems tough, but . . . she looked upset when she was talking to you and your cousin.”
“Serena and your mother kind of got into it,” Judith said reluctantly. “My cousin’s feisty and your mom is obviously walking a thin line. Not that I blame her.”
Barry nodded. “I noticed Mrs. Jones doesn’t take prisoners when I was at the bookstore. Was she ever in Roller Derby?”
The idea of the uncoordinated Renie zooming around competitors on a fast rink made Judith laugh out loud. “Oh, no! She’s not athletic.”
“Ah . . .” Barry was looking beyond Judith. “I won’t comment on that. Hi,” he said to Renie. “You need a refill for that stein?”
“I sure do,” Renie said, barging past Judith. “Fill ’er up. I just faced off with a tiger. I won. I have bigger teeth.”
“Bigger mouth, too,” Judith muttered, stepping aside to join Gabe.
“You make friends easily,” he said, handing over the wineglass. “That’s a m
ust for an innkeeper. I have to force myself to be outgoing.”
Judith shrugged. “I like people. I always have.” Her gaze followed Fritz Gruber, who was putting on his blue Bavarian jacket. Moving from behind the trestle table, he paused to greet several guests before exiting the hall. “Where’s he going?” she asked.
“Upstairs to the balcony,” Renie said, holding her refilled stein. “They have a stage behind those movable panels in back of the bar setup, but Barry told me they didn’t want to bother moving everything. Fritz will be mercifully brief. For a German.”
“Watch it,” Judith warned.
Renie frowned at Gabe. “You’re German, too?”
Gabe laughed. “No, I’m English and Swiss.”
A cowbell sounded over the crowd’s chatter. Judith looked up to see Fritz Gruber on the balcony, smiling benignly at the gathering. “Willkommen!” he called. Virtually all of the guests applauded.
“Good,” Renie said under her breath. “If the whole thing’s in German, I can nod off.”
But Fritz immediately switched to English. “We are delighted to have so many fine exhibitors at Oktoberfest. Each year we attract more visitors as well as merchants and organizations. We only have one main street, but it goes both ways . . .”
“Double yawn,” Renie murmured. “Civic blah-blah. Same as corporate blah-blah. I’m bored. Maybe I’ll go hit somebody.”
“Don’t embarrass us,” Judith said through clenched teeth.
“Okay.” Renie gestured at the entrance to the hall. “Here comes Fat Matt and Hernandez. Are they going to arrest me?”
Judith turned around to look. “Maybe. They’re headed this way.”
Fritz Gruber was winding down with a final German phrase that Judith translated as “Let’s party!” but for all she knew, it could’ve been “Avoid catching a social disease!” Whatever it was, the crowd cheered and applauded. Taking a short bow, Fritz headed back to the staircase.
Gabe Hunter looked anxious. “What the . . .”
Judith turned her gaze away from the balcony and gave a start. Hernandez was holding a pair of handcuffs. “Gabriel Philip Hunter, you’re a person of interest in the murder of Dietrich Wessler. Will you come along quietly or do I need to cuff you?”
All eyes shifted away from the balcony. The gathering was stunned into silence. No one looked more shocked than Gabe Hunter.
“I . . . I don’t know what . . . yes, of course . . . but . . .” he babbled.
Duomo nodded once. “Then let’s hit it.”
The chief walked on one side of Gabe, Hernandez on the other. Judith realized that Duomo hadn’t seen her standing next to Gabe or, if he had, didn’t care. Her perplexity concerning the local top cop was growing blurrier by the minute.
Or maybe it’s the wine, she thought, noticing that her second glass was half empty.
“Hey,” Renie said, “I could use a refill. How ’bout you?”
“You’re cross-eyed,” Judith said.
“Can’t be,” Renie said, rocking a bit on her heels. “Never been able to eyes my cross. I mean—”
“No more refills,” Judith declared. “Not for both of us. I mean, either of us.” She frowned. “Don’t I?”
“Don’t you what?”
“I don’t know,” Judith admitted. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay.” Renie drained her stein. “Let’s go to the beer tasting.”
“We can’t,” Judith said. “I mean, we shouldn’t.” She winced. “Oh, what the hell . . . why not? We can walk it off.”
“Good idea,” Renie said, thrusting her empty mug at a startled silver-haired dowager. “Wiedersehen, Frau Chump.”
A soft rain was falling when the cousins reached the street. Being natives, they hardly noticed. Judith suddenly realized she was still holding her wineglass. “Damn! I have to take this back.”
“Just put it on top of that parked . . . wow—it’s a mega Mercedes!”
Judith gazed at the sleek dark blue sedan. “Oh, why not?” She walked to the curb and placed the glass on the car’s hood. Glancing at the windshield, she gasped before scurrying back to where Renie was waiting. “Good grief! I just caught part of an X-rated show!”
“What kind of show? Live or taped?”
“Live, very much alive. It was just . . . bodies,” Judith said, hurrying to the corner crosswalk. “Moving bodies.”
“Moving’s good,” Renie said. “That means they aren’t dead.”
“I wonder who it is,” Judith mused as they crossed the street and passed their own inn. “There’s your boar, cavorting with those kids and some guy in a blue-and-white-checkered shirt.”
Renie followed her cousin’s gaze. “That’s a sixteenth-century tabard with the Bavarian colors. If I were an actual sleuth and not a cross-eyed sot, I’d say that vanity license plate on the Mercedes is a . . . what do you real detecting types call those things? A clue?”
Judith stopped abruptly to stare at her cousin. “What was it?”
Renie spelled it out. “W-E-S-L-E-R.”
Judith put a hand to her forehead. “As in ‘Wessler’?”
“Yes. You know that with this state’s vanity plates, you can’t use more than six numbers or figures.”
“Of course.” She narrowed her eyes at Renie. “You’re not drunk.”
“Of course I’m not,” Renie replied impatiently. “I just wanted to get out of there. I’ll bet the next thing we would’ve had to endure was another oompah . . . oh, no!” she cried as the sounds of a brass band could be heard from farther down the street. “They’re coming this way!”
“We’re going the other way,” Judith said. “Keep walking.”
The cousins did just that, wincing slightly as the oompah band tromped past them a few yards away from the now-shuttered B&B booth.
“It’s not that I don’t like the music,” Renie murmured as they approached the beer garden. “It’s just kind of loud.”
“What?” Judith said, the cheerful noise from the tented area in front of them seeming to resonate off the mountains.
Renie merely shook her head.
The beer-tasting event was jammed. Boisterous laughter filled the tent, though no one seemed to be openly intoxicated. Judith noticed that a table had been set up with food, including various Bratwürste.
“I’m hungry,” she said in Renie’s ear. “I’m getting something to eat. How about you?”
Renie eyed the offerings with distaste. “Sorry, coz. Bill likes bratwurst, but I don’t. I’ll just stand here and starve. As my mother would say, ‘Don’t worry about me.’ ”
“I won’t,” Judith said, making her way to the table. The selection was mouthwatering. When Judith and Dan McMonigle had lived in the otherwise bleak Thurlow neighborhood, one of the few stellar attractions—unless you counted the hookers near the airport—was a shop featuring German delicacies.
“What do you like best?” Eleanor Denkel inquired.
Judith hadn’t noticed her fellow innkeeper behind the table. “Ellie! I thought you were at Hanover Haus.”
“Or in a prison cell?” Eleanor retorted. “You must think I’m insane.”
“Hardly,” Judith replied, distracted by trying to choose between the Kulmbacher and the Würzburger brats. “I think you signed a false confession to divert the police. Duomo doesn’t take you or Franz Wessler seriously. Nice try, though. I’ll have a Würzburger with the works.”
“You would,” Ellie muttered. “If you’re not FATSO, how do you know that?”
“I told you, my cousin is FASTO. And don’t stint on the mustard.”
Ellie glared at Judith. “Which kind?”
“The hot one.”
“You would,” Ellie repeated. “Does your cousin know who killed my grandfather?”
“She’s working on it.�
�� Judith glanced over her shoulder, but couldn’t see Renie anywhere in the crowd. “She’s been interrogating suspects. You might not think so to look at her, but she’s very smart.”
“She hides it superbly,” Ellie growled, slathering condiments on the brat. “I should ask Ingrid what she thinks about your claim not to be the innkeeper who can’t keep her guests alive.”
Judith shrugged. “Go ahead. It’s very hard to disabuse Ingrid of an idea once she gets it in her head. I gave up years ago. It’s not my fault if I happen to be with Serena every time she comes across a corpse.” She paused. “I assume you know that a person of interest was taken from the town hall to headquarters just minutes ago.”
Ellie almost dropped the meat fork. “No! Who?”
“Another innkeeper,” Judith said casually. “You may know him. Gabe Hunter from the Kingfish Peninsula.”
Ellie handed over the bratwurst and its lavish condiments. “I’ve met him,” she said, puzzled, “but he hasn’t been in the business very long. His parents were the former owners. That doesn’t sound right. Has the chief lost his mind?”
Judith cradled the plate and leaned closer. “When’s your grandfather’s funeral?”
The other woman’s face tensed. “Why? Do you plan to attend?”
“I assume you wouldn’t hold it during Oktoberfest.”
Ellie had regained her aplomb. “It’s scheduled for Saint Hubert’s feast day. I believe you’re Catholic, so you realize the local church is named for him. In fact, Grossvater was a member of the Knights of Saint Hubert, awarded for his service in postwar Germany. Saint Hubert’s feast day is November third. That’s almost two weeks away. I trust you’ll be gone by then,” she added with apparent pleasure.
“Yes. Are you and Uncle Franz making the arrangements?”
Ellie’s face tensed again. “No. Klara is in charge. She knows the priest who says the weekend Masses. Father Dash will be here Sunday.”
Judith wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Father Dash?”
Eleanor nodded. “That’s what Klara calls him. Excuse me, Judith. Other people are waiting to be served. Please move on.”