The Wurst Is Yet to Come

by Mary Daheim

  Judith stared at the chief. “Bruno’s your brother?”

  “Yeah. My other brother’s the baker. Frankie, real name Francis, but he’d slug you if you called him that. He’s almost as dumb as Bruno. Makes good doughnuts, though.” He polished off the cruller.

  It was no wonder the chef looked familiar. There was a definite resemblance—especially the round bald head. In a small town, Judith figured at least half the population must be related to one another.

  “Let’s get back on track,” she urged. “One other thing really bothers me. This morning at breakfast with some of the other innkeepers, including Eleanor Denkel, Mr. Wessler’s granddaughter, there was talk that he wasn’t murdered, but had a heart attack and fell on a knife. Eleanor also said there’s an autopsy. Is that true?”

  Duomo put down a glazed cruller he’d taken out of the bakery bag. “Yeah, sure, autopsies are good. The local doc who’s in charge of our hospital is the coroner, but he’s backed up with all these screwy tourists getting themselves banged up and falling down and whatever else they do when they get crazy at Oktoberfest. Hell, they had a deer come into the ER yesterday morning. Nothing wrong with the deer, just curious, I guess. Anyways, Doc Frolander will get to it later today, maybe. But pay no attention to what people say. Gossip’s a big hobby around here.”

  “Eleanor Denkel isn’t local,” Judith pointed out. “She may have family in Little Bavaria, but she’s not part of your regular grapevine.”

  “It’s contagious,” Duomo stated. “Ten minutes inside this town and everybody’s cackling like a bunch of damned hens.”

  “So it’s definitely homicide?”

  “Unless Doc Frolander says different.” He bit into the cruller.

  “What happened to the bottle that was found at the bookstore?”

  “It’s . . . somewhere. The lab, I guess. You don’t know how long that bottle’s been at the bookstore. Hell, whoever made that busted gizmo might’ve had lacquer in it. Or would that be a glaze?”

  “It could be either one,” Judith said irritably and stood up. “I’ll check back with you later on the autopsy.”

  The chief waved a hand for her to wait while he finished another bite of cruller. “Hold it. You haven’t given me anything. What’ve you been doing? Larking around town drinking beer and rubbernecking?”

  Judith leaned both hands on the desk and looked Duomo straight in the eye. “I have never come up against a case as confused and frustrating as this one. I can’t get straight answers, witnesses have wildly different reactions to the same things, people make false confessions, and I still haven’t been able to sort out who’s related to who. For all I know, you’re Herr Wessler’s illegitimate son.”

  The chief dropped the cruller. “Whoa! How did you know that?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Judith was speechless—but only for a moment. Regaining her composure, she forced a sly smile. “I’m FASTO, remember?”

  Chief Duomo still looked shaken. In fact, his eyes had misted over. “Francesca Duomo was my mother. She came from Italy—from Pescia, a Tuscan hill town. She fell in love with Wessler.” He paused to dab at his eyes with a stubby finger.

  “He must’ve had great charisma,” Judith said, though she thought of several other attributes the deceased might also have possessed.

  Duomo nodded. “My mama married an American alpine skier. He died young. That’s why they lived here. I never knew him. Neither did my younger brothers.”

  “Ah . . .” Judith was momentarily nonplussed. “Wessler was also Bruno and Frankie’s father?”

  The chief nodded again. “ ’Course.” He narrowed his small eyes at Judith. “You think my mama played around?”

  “Oh, no,” Judith said hastily. “I didn’t realize the birth order of you and your brothers. Is she . . . ah . . . still alive?”

  Duomo shook his head. “Passed back in ’92. One of those damned aneurysms. Bingo!” He clapped his hands once. “She was gone. Just turned sixty the week before.”

  “Herr Wessler must’ve loved her very much.”

  “He loved everybody very much,” the chief said. “Think I got about three, four dozen half brothers and half sisters between here and Germany. Real friendly kind of guy.” He smiled wistfully before stuffing the rest of the glazed cruller in his mouth.

  Judith was rarely at a loss when eliciting personal information from virtual strangers, but she was having a problem phrasing tactful queries about Matt’s father and the gaggle of illegitimate Wessler offspring. “So,” she finally said, “you’re related to Franz Wessler and Eleanor Denkel.”

  Swallowing first, Duomo tapped his fingers on the desk as if he were running a calculator. “Right, right,” he finally said. “Franz is a half brother, Eleanor’s a . . . half niece? Hard to keep track. We’re all spread out.” He rubbed his paunch. “More ways than one. Get it?”

  “Yes.” Judith smiled obligingly. “Do you have any other half siblings here in Little Bavaria?”

  Fat Matt frowned. “No, don’t think so. Used to, but they all moved away. Let’s see . . . there was Hans and Leah and Stan and . . . damn, can’t recall that one half sister’s name. She left when she was still in her teens. Nice-looking gal, but kind of standoffish. Never got to know her. Think she was about ten years younger than me. Oh, there was a boy, but his ma took him back east when he was just a little kid. She hated German food.” Duomo scowled. “You writing my life story?”

  “Hardly,” Judith said. “If Wessler was murdered, his heirs would be possible suspects. As you know, money is always a good motive.”

  The chief shrugged. “I s’pose. But he gave most of his away, either to the lady friends or the town. Hell, I don’t even know if he had a will.” He scowled again. “Are you saying I’m a suspect?”

  “You would be—but you weren’t at the scene,” Judith pointed out. “Unless, of course, you conspired with someone else.”

  “That’s a bunch of crap,” he declared, digging into the bakery bag. “Plain? What’s wrong with Orville? He knows I don’t like crullers without frosting. Oh, well.”

  “You asked for my help and that’s what I’m giving you,” Judith said. “If you’re trying to remove suspicion from yourself, prove it.”

  The chief finished chewing. “I wouldn’t go to all that trouble to kill anybody, let alone Vater Wessler. I’d just frame him for some crime, shoot him, and claim he was trying to escape.”

  Judith tended to believe Fat Matt was innocent, but didn’t say so. Instead, she stood up. “I have to be going. If you want to help me help you, figure out if any of your other half siblings might be involved. Ellie already confessed, if only because she felt guilty about begging Wessler to take on the B&B exhibit and host the cocktail party.”

  “Hunh. That one’s new to me. She did natter on about him asking her to do it. Felt he couldn’t live forever and didn’t want to get senile and decrepit. Thought it’d be kind of spectacular for the town. You know—going out in style. I guess.”

  “You bought that tale?”

  “ ’Course not. It’s like she was trying out different motives to see which one I liked best. That’s why I let her go. Or maybe she was trying to make me look like a fool. It’d be like Ellie. She’s not my favorite relative. Too high-and-mighty. Couldn’t wait to get out of town. She headed for the big city the day after she graduated from high school.”

  “I won’t argue the point about her arrogance,” Judith said, “but that’s not the version I read in her statement.”

  Duomo scowled. “You snooping around here when I’m gone?”

  “Of course. How else can I find out anything? Now I’ve got two different versions of why Ellie claimed to have offed her grandfather. Three, if I count her signed confession about the will.”

  “Multiple choice,” the chief muttered. “They’re all bull.”

&n
bsp; “That I believe,” Judith snapped, slinging her handbag over her shoulder. “I’ll check in later about the autopsy.”

  “The . . . oh, sure. Hey—on your way out, tell Orville he’s an idiot. It’ll save me a trip.”

  Judith barely managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. But she didn’t bother to say good-bye.

  Evelyn Choo was waiting for Judith in the parking lot at Hanover Haus. They shook hands as Evelyn explained that she always went for an early walk before starting breakfast for her guests.

  “It’s the only way I can wake myself up to start the day,” she said. “But since I don’t have to make breakfast, I decided to take my walk after I ate. I’m staying at the Valhalla Inn on the edge of town by the river.”

  “It’s good to change your routine,” Judith remarked as they started down the almost deserted main street.

  Evelyn nodded absently. “I suppose. I expected it to be so quaint and peaceful here after city life. I never came close to a homicide until last night. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Judith agreed, hoping Evelyn had never heard any FASTO tales. “Where were you when it happened?” she inquired, involuntarily looking up at Sadie’s Stories with its “Closed” sign.

  “I wasn’t in the ballroom,” Evelyn replied, turning up the collar of her suede jacket as a sudden breeze blew down from the mountains. “My husband had called to see if I’d arrived safely, but I couldn’t hear him over the din of the band, so I went into the lobby. We chatted for a few moments—and then the party got so quiet. I assumed someone was speaking to the guests, but before I could ring off, I heard sirens. I didn’t think much of it—the highway is treacherous. Then the sirens stopped and suddenly all those emergency people rushed inside. I didn’t know what had happened until I went back to the ballroom.” She shook her head. “So sad. So . . . strange.”

  “Strange?” Judith echoed.

  “Theatrical, like a stage play or a film. Didn’t you think so, too?”

  “I did,” Judith said slowly, “though almost subconsciously.”

  Evelyn put her hood up over her short black hair. “Maybe I reacted that way because it seemed so incredible. A small town, holding a big festival, everyone having a good time.” She paused as they neared the exhibition area. “Oh, Eleanor’s already at the booth. I heard she’s the victim’s granddaughter.”

  “She is,” Judith replied, trying to put on a pleasant face as they approached the prickly Mrs. Denkel. “Are we all set?” she asked, hoping to sound cordial.

  “No,” Ellie replied crossly. “The two innkeepers from the Lake Shegogan B&B didn’t clean up properly last night. I’m reorganizing the brochures and displays. Really, some people are very slapdash. I’d hate to see what their inns look like. How do they stay in business?”

  Judith couldn’t detect any serious disarray except for some maps that apparently had blown off the counter. “Vandals and Huns, maybe?”

  Ellie glared at Judith. “You and your little jokes. I’ll let you and Evelyn finish cleaning up.”

  “Sure,” Judith said. “It’s quiet this morning. Everyone must be recovering from last night’s events.”

  “Perhaps,” Ellie allowed through pursed lips. “You’re five minutes early. If you were being paid, you’d probably demand overtime.”

  Evelyn arched her perfect black eyebrows at Ellie. “You have your own little jokes, Eleanor. You seem tired. Maybe you need a nap.”

  Ellie didn’t bother to respond. She picked up her clutch purse and all but ran from the booth.

  “Why,” Evelyn said, joining Judith, who’d reached the counter first, “does she have to be unpleasant? Most innkeepers are personable.”

  “Maybe Ellie’s grieving for her grandfather.”

  “Well . . . perhaps. But I have to wonder if she and Mr. Wessler were close. She doesn’t seem to know the town all that well.”

  “She was raised here,” Judith pointed out.

  Evelyn looked surprised. “Really?”

  Judith nodded. “She moved away after high school, which was probably before Little Bavaria was turned into a tourist attraction. That might account for her lack of knowledge. I understand all the buildings along the main street were completely renovated in the Bavarian style.”

  “That would indicate Eleanor doesn’t visit very often.”

  “Yes,” Judith said, “it may explain her unfamiliarity with all the changes. Tell me, how do you get along with Ingrid Heffelman?”

  Evelyn laughed, but waited for the clock tower to chime ten. “Ingrid and I sorted out our differences about running a B&B. She’s not unreasonable, just a bit hidebound. Do you have problems with her?”

  Judith omitted the body count, assuming Evelyn didn’t know of her reputation. “Maybe it’s a personality clash,” she hedged. “I spoke to my husband last night. He told me Ingrid had come to inspect Hillside Manor. With the city’s budget crisis, they’re farming out certain jobs.”

  Evelyn shrugged. “That makes sense. She does run the state association. I don’t think Pearl House is due for inspection until next year. Maybe the city will be in better financial shape by then.”

  “I hope so,” Judith said, noticing that the main street had grown busier in the last few minutes. In fact, two dark-skinned couples were headed their way. The men wore casual clothes, but the women were dressed in elegant saris. Judith and Evelyn put on their friendliest smiles and went to work.

  The next hour and a half was busy. Some sixty people stopped to chat and study the brochures, photographs, and maps. At least half were Americans, and over a dozen were Canadians. There were also visitors from Costa Rica, Argentina, Thailand, and the United Kingdom. The first two couples had turned out to be from Bangalore, India.

  Judith was saying good-bye to a woman from Sarasota, Florida, when she spotted Renie approaching with Barry Stafford.

  “You’re awake,” Judith said to her cousin.

  “Sort of,” Renie replied. “I ran into Barry outside of the bookshop. We’re heading for the pancake place. I haven’t eaten breakfast and he’s ready for lunch. Want to meet us there?”

  “Sure,” Judith said. She turned to introduce Evelyn, but her fellow innkeeper was still talking to a young couple who looked sufficiently dewy-eyed to be newlyweds. “Save me a place.”

  Renie said she would. The cuddling couple had moved on. A lull followed as pedestrians stopped to watch a juggler on the sidewalk.

  “Who was that?” Evelyn inquired.

  “My cousin Serena,” Judith replied.

  “I assumed you might be related,” Evelyn said. “You don’t look alike, but your mannerisms and the way you speak indicate a resemblance. I meant the young man. He seems familiar.”

  “Oh,” Judith said, “that’s because he tended bar at the cocktail party at Wolfgang’s night before last.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by two middle-aged couples, chattering cheerfully in German. The respite was over. For the next half hour the booth was busy. Judith was glad to see Eldridge Hoover and even Connie Beaulieu show up for their stint. Gathering up her purse and the notebook in which she’d jotted down potential B&B guests, she asked if Evelyn wanted to join her for lunch at the Pancake Schloss. The other woman declined with polite, even sincere, regret. She was meeting an old friend who owned an inn on Chavez Island.

  “Jeanne Clayton Barber?” Judith asked in surprise.

  Evelyn smiled. “You know her?”

  “Yes, from way back. In fact, I B&B-sat for her a few years ago after her husband died.”

  Evelyn’s face fell. “No! Were you there when a man got killed?”

  Judith flinched. “Unfortunately, yes. But somehow I managed to survive that tragic episode.”

  Evelyn shook her head. “It must’ve been terrifying. Weren’t you traumatized? How could you stand the stress?”


  “Ah . . . well, you know how it is—you just keep going.”

  “I don’t know if I could do that. I mean, to be involved in something as sordid as murder. Do you still have nightmares about it?”

  Judith was trying to remember exactly who had gotten killed and why. All she could recall at the moment was thinking that Renie had hit the victim over the head with her dinner plate. At first, Judith had thought her cousin had killed him for trying to swipe her meal. “Time heals all wounds,” she murmured. “I’d better meet my first susp—I mean, first cousin. She’s the impatient type. Tell Jeanne hello for me.”

  Evelyn, looking faintly dazed, promised to convey her fellow innkeeper’s greetings.

  By the time Judith reached the restaurant, it was almost full. At first, she didn’t see Renie or Barry, but her cousin stood up and waved from a booth near where they had sat the previous day.

  “Suze and I declared a truce,” Renie announced when Judith sat down next to her. “Barry told her I was an orphan who had to work in a New England shoe factory as a child and she felt sorry for me.”

  Barry laughed. “Mom’s sort of hotheaded sometimes, too. She kind of likes it when somebody mixes it up with her. She can’t insult rude customers, so she saves her hostility for private gatherings.”

  Judith glanced at Renie. “My cousin’s less discriminating.”

  “Hey, watch it,” Renie said. “Suze always lets Barry eat on the house. His guests, too. Don’t criticize me or she might renege.”

  “One of my few perks,” Barry noted. “Mom figures she fed me and my buddies for the first eighteen years before I started college. She decided she might as well go on doing it while I’m in town.”

  “Very generous of her,” Judith said, seeing that Renie had already demolished most of her Swedish pancakes, eggs, and ham. “You two hooked up this morning at Sadie’s Stories?”

  Renie had stuffed her mouth with more ham, so Barry answered first. “I was just coming out of the shop. Jessi and I overdid it last night at the beer tasting.” He gave Judith a rueful look.

  Suzie suddenly appeared at the booth. “What’ll it be?”