by Mary Daheim
Judith gave her husband a startled look. “They’re
leaving? But the fog hasn’t lifted.”
“Vito says the studio has given them the go-ahead,”
Joe replied, placing toast in a rack. “The weather forecast predicts the fog will be gone by noon.”
Judith stood rooted to the spot. “Should we be glad?”
“I don’t know,” Joe replied, heading to the dining
room with the toast. “I couldn’t get a feel one way or
another from Vito.”
When he returned moments later, Judith inquired
after Angela. “Is she going, too?”
“No,” said Joe, pouring more eggs into the pan.
“They’re sending her directly to rehab at the Ford
Madox Ford Center on the Eastside. According to Vito,
she’ll be there at least a couple of months. Maybe this
time the cure will take.”
As Joe tended the stove, Judith peeked over the
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swinging doors that led into the dining room. The conversation seemed lighthearted. Maybe the movie people had put their differences aside now that they were
leaving what they considered a fogbound backwater.
Everyone was there. Everyone except Winifred.
Winifred Best seemed to be the least likely of the
guests to sleep in. A wave of apprehension came over
Judith as she started for the back stairs.
The phone rang. Judith grabbed it from its cradle,
hoping that Dilys Oaks was calling with good news for
Joe. Instead, it was Phyliss Rackley, calling with bad
news for Judith.
“I can’t breathe,” Phyliss announced in a voice that
was anything but short of wind. “I must have tuberculosis. Where’s the nearest sanitorium?”
“They don’t send people there for TB anymore,
Phyliss,” Judith asserted. “They can cure it with antibiotics. Call your doctor.”
“I can’t,” Phyliss replied, then coughed with what
sounded like feigned effort. “I’m fading fast. I need an
iron lung.”
“That’s for polio,” Judith said crossly. “Are you
telling me you won’t be here today?”
“How can I?” Phyliss asked, forlorn. “The Lord is
coming for me. I saw Him this morning in my closet.”
“Tell the Lord to come out of the closet and put you
on the bus to Hillside Manor,” Judith huffed. “I’ve got
a big mess here today, and I’m worn out. Furthermore,
it’s All Saints’ Day and I have to go to noon Mass.”
“You and your Roman rituals,” Phyliss complained.
“What kind of sacrifice do you make this time? A gopher?”
Judith refused to waste time discussing the sacrifice
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of the Mass to Phyliss. She’d already explained it on at
least a dozen occasions. “I really need you, Phyliss. Do
you think you could make it by noon? The fog’s supposed to lift by then.”
“Well . . .” Phyliss seemed to consider the request.
“I’ll see. Maybe the Lord can work a miracle cure.”
She coughed some more for effect. “Kaff, kaff.”
Hanging up, Judith continued on her way upstairs,
then went the length of the hall to Room One, which
Winifred had shared the previous night with Ellie Linn.
Knocking gently at first, she got no response. She
rapped harder. Still no reply. She was about to hammer
on the door when she decided simply to open it.
The door was unlocked. A billow of smoke engulfed
Judith. Flames licked at the bedclothes just as the fire
alarm sounded and the sprinkler system went off.
Winifred lay awkwardly on the bed, her eyes closed,
her mouth agape. Even as Judith screamed for help,
she braved the smoke, fire, and drenching water to
reach the motionless woman. Coughing, gritting her
teeth, and ever aware that she could dislocate the artificial hip, she grabbed Winifred by the feet and attempted to tug her off the bed.
Despite Winifred’s slimness, Judith could move her
no more than a few inches. The water was pouring
down, dousing the flames but turning the room into a
nightmare of sizzling vapors. Judith gasped, coughed
again, and yanked at a pillowcase to put over her
mouth. She barely heard the pounding of feet on the
stairs or Joe’s shouts as he reached the second floor.
A moment later he was in the room, arms flailing,
trying to push Judith out of the way. He missed. Judith,
with the wet pillowcase protecting her nose and mouth,
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caught Winifred around the knees and, with a mighty
wrench, moved her into a sitting position against the
headboard.
At the same time she felt—and heard—an odd
sound in her hip. She collapsed on the floor.
“Don’t move!” Joe yelled as he picked up Winifred
and carried her into the hall.
Dazed, Judith choked, coughed, and shivered in a
huddled mass near the door. The fire, which had spread
to the lace curtains on the other side of the room, was
now sputtering out. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Someone must have called 911. Again.
“Winifred . . .” Judith murmured as Joe bent down
to put his arms around her shoulders. “Is she . . . ?”
“Never mind Winifred,” he said, his voice husky.
“Can you stand?”
She wasn’t sure. What was worse, she was afraid to
try. To her surprise, Dirk Farrar entered the room. “I
can lift her,” he volunteered.
“We both can,” Joe retorted.
They did, carefully moving her out of the room and
placing her on the settee in the hall. Winifred was lying
on the floor by the door to the bathroom between
Rooms Three and Four. Dade was leaning over her,
once again trying to revive a fallen comrade.
“She’s alive,” Eugenia announced.
Dade looked up. “She’s coming ’round.”
“Thank God,” Judith gasped, then tried to sit up
with Joe’s help.
Vito Patricelli’s customary calm was ruffled; he’d
removed his sunglasses. “What happened? How did
the fire start?”
He was ignored by both Flynns as the emergency
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crew charged up the stairs with Eugenia Fleming in
their wake. Somewhat to her surprise, Judith didn’t
recognize any of the rescuers. Maybe, she thought a bit
hazily, that was because it was a Monday. She couldn’t
recall anyone ever dying or almost dying at Hillside
Manor on a Monday. This must be a different crew.
Somewhat giddily, she wondered if eventually she’d
know them all—police, firefighters, medics, maybe
even a coroner or two.
“Clear the area!” one of the firefighters shouted.
From somewhere on the stairs, Judith could hear a
vaguely familiar female voice giving orders for the rest
of the guests to stay put. The girlish tones sounded
more like Ellie than the buglelike Eugenia. But the
voice belonged to a newcomer.
The medics had moved Winifred down the hall.
; “We’ll work on her here,” one of them announced with
a slight Spanish accent. “Everybody else get lost.”
Finally, Joe got Judith to her feet. “Can you walk?”
he whispered.
She bit her lip, then wiped at her eyes, which were
still smarting. “I’m not sure,” she replied unsteadily.
But one foot went in front of the other. There was none
of the agonizing pain she’d suffered from previous dislocations. Perhaps the sensations trying to move
Winifred had only been a warning.
The others had already trooped downstairs, except
for Vito, who lingered in the hallway.
Eugenia was standing under the arch between the
entry hall and the living room. Cautiously, Judith
stepped over the tan fire hoses.
“Where is that woman?” Eugenia demanded, fists
on hips. “It must be all her fault.”
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Judith stared. “What woman?”
“Your cleaning woman,” Eugenia snapped. “What
kind of a person is she to cause such a mess?”
“My—” Judith stopped, allowing Joe to help her
onto the sofa.
Eugenia followed, a bulldog running down a cat.
“I let her in while I was waiting for you to serve
breakfast,” Eugenia said, incensed. “How did I know
she was a pyromaniac?”
Judith forced her brain to kick-start. “No. That
couldn’t have been my cleaning woman. I spoke to her
on the phone just before I went upstairs looking for
Winifred. She lives a good four miles from here.”
“What did this person look like?” Joe asked, all
business.
“Why . . .” Eugenia paused. “Like a cleaning
woman. Which is who she said she was. Gray-haired,
thin, homely.”
Oddly enough, the description fit Phyliss Rackley.
But that was impossible. Ignoring her hip, Judith
jumped up. “Where is she now?”
“How do I know?” Eugenia shot back. “She went
upstairs just before the others came down to breakfast.”
“Christ!” Joe took off at a run, apparently heading
for the back stairs. The sound of water thundered overhead. Through the big bay window, Judith could see
two firefighters climbing up to the roof.
“Oh, no!” she wailed. “My poor B&B! It’s ruined!”
It was only then that she realized the fire wasn’t the
only thing that had laid waste to Room One. So overcome with shock and fear had Judith been at the time,
she had failed to take in the more minor damage.
Winifred’s room had been ransacked.
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*
*
*
Joe returned a few minutes later with Dilys Oaks.
Judith realized that it was the young policewoman’s
voice she had recognized earlier.
“Nothing,” Joe said, out of breath. “We couldn’t
find any trace of the so-called cleaning woman.”
Judith turned to Eugenia, who had just finished a
call on her cell phone. “Did you notice a car outside
when you let this woman in?”
“A car?” Eugenia looked indignant. “How could I?
It’s too foggy to see past the front steps. I don’t know
when I’ve been in such a miserable place. Except
Croatia, perhaps.”
“Look here,” Judith said, her temper flaring, “you
were the one who admitted this woman. Why didn’t
you let me open the door?”
“You weren’t here,” Eugenia retorted. “Neither was
your husband. Besides, your cleaning woman had a
key. Apparently, she was having trouble turning it.”
Judith frowned. She must have been in the toolshed
with her mother. Maybe Joe had gone to the bathroom.
It wasn’t really fair to blame Eugenia for the disaster.
If, Judith suddenly thought, Eugenia was telling the
truth. As for the key, perhaps the intruder was faking it.
Or, it suddenly occurred to her, someone had found
Dade’s missing key. But who?
A firefighter, moving clumsily in his bulky safety
suit, entered the living room. “We think everything’s
under control,” he announced, then turned to Joe. “The
fire itself was just about extinguished by the sprinkler
system. But there’s quite a bit of water damage. We’ll
stick around to check things out, but if there’s danger
to the wiring, you’d better think about staying some- 320
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where else for a while. Also, it may take some time for
the investigators to do their job and for the insurance
adjusters to estimate the amount of damage.”
“That’s impossible!” Judith exclaimed. “This is a
bed-and-breakfast establishment! We can’t shut down.
And we certainly aren’t going to move out.”
With regret, the firefighter shook his head. “Sorry,
ma’am. I’m afraid you’ll have to do both. Safety first.”
Before Judith could argue further, the medics appeared on the staircase with Winifred on a gurney with
her eyes closed and an oxygen mask over her face. Vito
was right behind them.
“They’re taking her to the hospital to treat her for
smoke inhalation,” the lawyer announced from the
entry hall, a frown on his usually imperturbable face.
“I don’t get it,” Judith put in, moving with care.
“The fire had just started. There was plenty of smoke,
but not enough to render Ms. Best unconscious. She
wasn’t asleep; she was in her bathrobe lying atop the
bedcovers.”
The medics didn’t respond as they wheeled
Winifred out of the house and disappeared.
Vito started to follow, but Eugenia waylaid him with
a firm hand. “Mrs. Flynn’s right. What’s going on with
Win?”
With a pained expression, Vito leaned down to
whisper in Eugenia’s ear. She gave a start, then
scowled. “The medics told you that? I don’t believe
it!” she snapped, then turned on Judith as Vito exited
the house. “Your cleaning woman knocked Winifred
unconscious!”
“What?” Judith shrieked. “That wasn’t my cleaning
woman!”
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Eugenia shrugged her broad shoulders. “As you say.
Vito is accompanying Win to the hospital. I understand
this wretched house has to be evacuated. Don’t worry,
we’re all but on our way.”
Returning to the living room, Judith began to pace
the floor.
“Take it easy,” Joe warned. “You’re listing a bit to
starboard.”
“I’m fine,” Judith snarled. “I didn’t dislocate, I
just . . . twinged.” She stopped by the piano at the far
end of the room. “I can’t believe this. Even if we don’t
get sued, we’re out of business for God knows how
long!”
“Come on, Jude-girl,” Joe urged, “try to relax a little.
It’s not like the place burned down.” He looked at
Dilys, who had her back turned to both Flynns and was
on her cell phone. “An APB h
as gone out on the mysterious cleaning woman. If there was one,” he added,
lowering his voice.
Dilys clicked off to face Judith and Joe. “Unfortunately,” she said, “the description isn’t very helpful.
Ms. Fleming thought the woman was wearing dark
clothing. The rest of her appearance is quite ordinary.
With all the new apartments and condos on this side of
the hill, there must be a hundred women like that
within three square blocks of here.”
Judith abruptly sat down on the piano bench. “No,”
she said slowly, “there’s only one.”
TWENTY
THERE WAS NO time for Judith to explain. The battalion chief came into the living room to consult
with the Flynns. His main advice was to contact
their insurance agent as soon as possible. Joe
agreed, saying he’d drive up to the top of the hill as
soon as the local office opened at ten.
“What about the damage?” Judith asked in a
plaintive voice. “How bad is it?”
“We’ll let you know as soon as we can,” the chief
said kindly. His name was Ramirez, and he spoke
with a slight Spanish accent.
Judith winced. “You’re sure we have to move out?”
Ramirez nodded. “It may not be for long. It’s the
water damage, mostly. That’s often the case with a
small fire. Only the bedcovers, curtains, and carpet
were destroyed. The rest of the fire merely scorched
the bed itself, the mattress, and one wall. By the
way, who tossed the room?”
Joe and Dilys both stared at Judith. “Um . . .” She
put her hands to her cheeks, which seemed to have
suddenly grown quite warm. “I forgot to mention
that. It must have been the intruder who knocked out
Ms. Best.”
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Ramirez frowned. “So that’s what I heard someone
talking about. Where are the police?”
Dilys took a step forward. “I am the police,” she declared. “My backup should be along shortly. The patrol
cars are already on the lookout for the perp.”
The battalion chief seemed disconcerted. “You
mean . . . All these people in this house and no
one . . .” He gave himself a good shake. “Excuse me.
It’s a big house. In fact, haven’t you had a couple of
other 911 calls in the past few days?”
To Judith’s great relief, Dilys stepped in to spare the
Flynns the burden of an explanation. “To begin with,”
she said, guiding Ramirez out of the living room, “this
is a B&B. The current guests are somewhat unusual in