by Mary Daheim
Dedication
In loving memory of Judith Marie Marshall Collins.
You are still with me, dear Coz.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Author’s Note
About the Author
Also by Mary Daheim
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Judith McMonigle Flynn stared at the mail on the credenza, glared at the thick packet’s return address, and squared her broad shoulders before marching out of the front hall to confront her husband in the kitchen.
“It’s here, Joe,” she announced. “Come and get it.”
“What’s here?” he asked, after swallowing a bite from a ham-and-cheese sandwich.
“The mail,” Judith said, hands on hips. “Phyliss brought it in when she was sweeping the porch.”
Joe’s green eyes looked suspicious. “So? Did your cleaning woman figure somebody sent a bomb to Hillside Manor?”
“A bombshell as far as I’m concerned,” Judith retorted. “It’s from New Zealand.”
“Wow!” Joe stood up and hurried past Judith on his way to retrieve the packet.
Phyliss Rackley came through the back hall from the basement. “Satan’s familiar is hunting. There must be a mouse there. Or a rat.”
“At least Sweetums will probably nail whatever rodent it is,” Judith said glumly. “Do you have any good news?”
It was the wrong thing to ask her fanatically religious cleaning woman. “I sure do! Hallelujah! Christmas is over!”
“That’s good news?”
“It certainly is,” Phyliss asserted, setting a pile of clean kitchen towels on the counter. “We don’t have to listen to those heathens gripe about the holiday and that Santa Claus is our savior.”
“There is that,” Judith allowed, opening the refrigerator. “Of course Santa is based on a Catholic saint. A bishop, in fact.”
Phyliss’s beady eyes were suspicious. “You’re making that up.”
“No,” Judith said, removing some leftover salad from the fridge. “Surely you’ve heard the legend about him.”
Phyliss slammed the drawer in which she’d put the towels. “Legends! More hocus-pocus. What’s that one about Sleepy Hollow? Did your bishop take off his head and ride a horse?”
“Not even close,” Judith retorted. She wasn’t in the mood to argue.
As Phyliss left the kitchen, Joe returned. “This is really one hell of a trip. I’m going over to see Bill as soon as I finish lunch. I already called to tell him I got the packet.”
“Good for you,” Judith muttered, sitting down with her salad.
Joe hurriedly finished his sandwich, then leaned forward to put a hand on his wife’s arm. “Hey—I honestly don’t know why you’re so irked about this New Zealand fishing trip Bill and I are taking. It cost us less than four hundred dollars apiece. We weren’t serious about bidding on it at the church auction, just trying to hike up the price for Father Hoyle. Was that so wrong? How did we know the other guests were going to suddenly get tightfisted?”
Judith set her fork aside. “First of all, the parish council shouldn’t have moved the auction to November instead of May. Yes, I know Father Hoyle’s taking a month off to visit relatives when the auction’s usually held. But scheduling the event so close to the holidays was a big mistake. What’s more, the fishing trip has to be in January because it’s summer in New Zealand. I suspect that even some of the wealthy parishioners couldn’t take time off right now. But what really got me—and Coz Renie—was that after the first hundred bucks, you and Bill were the only people bidding—against each other.”
“That was because . . .” Joe sat back and sighed. “Okay, so maybe we shouldn’t have been the bartenders before the bidding started.”
Judith narrowed her dark eyes. “You were told to get the other parishioners juiced, not each other.”
“You have to admit it’s a hell of a deal,” Joe asserted. “If we had to pay the full freight, it’d be almost three grand apiece.”
“Which, I may point out—again—prohibits Renie and me from going with you and Bill. Admittedly, it’s a slow time here at the B&B, but she has annual reports to design and can’t get away even if we could afford it. You could’ve earned some big bucks investigating the crooks behind that recreational development project up north. The only thing that kept me barely above water this month is New Year’s and the Martin Luther King three-day weekend. The reservations until St. Valentine’s Day are few and far between.”
Joe refused to look contrite. “Even if you two went, you’d be bored. Besides, you know how drunk Renie gets if she has to fly. Do you realize how unbearable your cousin would be by the time we got to Auckland?”
“She’d be unconscious,” Judith said. “I wouldn’t have to listen to her. We could stay in the city and explore. I’ve heard New Zealand is a lovely country.” She finally managed a small smile. “Okay, I give up. I’m being a brat. January’s always a downer.”
“I know.” Joe smiled back before standing up. “How come you’re eating salad again?”
Judith shot him a dirty look. “I’m still trying to lose the seven pounds I gained over the holidays. I’ve got three to go.”
“Hey,” he said, reaching down to put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re tall. I can never tell when you gain or lose weight.”
“Your eyes are probably going.” She poked at his slight paunch. “It wouldn’t hurt you to shed some weight, too.”
“I’ve gained less than ten pounds since we got married fifteen years ago.” Joe glanced at his midsection. “I think my muscles have worked their way down to my stomach since I retired from the police department. Being a private investigator forces me to spend too much time sitting on surveillance. I’m off to show Bill the packet.” He kissed his wife’s forehead.
Judith smiled again. “Say hi to the Joneses for me. Renie’s probably working on her graphic designs in the basement.”
Joe started out of the kitchen, but paused. “We’ll have to be at the airport Thursday morning by six for the flight to San Francisco. We can take the shuttle.”
“And you will,” she agreed. “I’ve got two Wednesday reservations.”
“It’s only Tuesday. You might get another one.”
“Ha ha,” Judith said. But she wasn’t smiling.
It figures,” Gertrude Grover muttered when Judith went out to collect her mother’s lunch tray from the converted toolshed apartment. “Dopey and Dummy will be upside down in New Zealand. Although I don’t think it’ll make much difference with that pair. What brains they’ve got will probably fall into outer space. Say, why don’t you ask your goofy cousin Serena and her daffy mother to come over some night so the four of us can play bridge? That might cheer you up.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Judith said. “Renie and I haven’t played cards in ages. I hope we can remember all the bidding cues. We might be kind of rusty.”
“It’ll come back to you,” her mother asserted. “Just like riding a Popsicle. You never forget how to do it.”
“A Popsicle?” Judith echoed. “You mea
n a bi—”
“I know what I mean,” Gertrude interrupted. “When you were a kid and it got hot in the summer, you’d put a Popsicle on your bicycle seat to cool it off.”
“I only did that once and it was a mistake,” Judith said. “The Popsicle melted and it looked like I wet my pants.”
Her mother shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“It wasn’t. Maybe Renie can come over Thursday night. I’ve only got one reservation so far. Luckily, the weekend’s looking a little better.”
Worry surfaced in Gertrude’s faded blue eyes. “You going broke?”
“No, Mother, it’s always like this in January.” She stood next to Gertrude’s chair and put a hand on the old lady’s rounded shoulder. “Things will pick up in March. They always do.”
“Hunh. There’s talk of a recession. Maybe just like the thirties. Soup kitchens and homeless camps. Where’s FDR when we need him?”
“The last I heard,” Judith said, “he and Eleanor were still buried at Hyde Park.”
Gertrude sighed. “Seems like only yesterday that I heard FDR had died. I was babysitting Serena while your aunt Deb and uncle Cliff were off on some appointment. I left you napping with Grandma and Grandpa Grover. Your dad was teaching at the high school. Serena and I were prank-calling Realtors when Deb and Cliff pulled into the driveway. We both went to the back door—”
Judith was aghast. “You let Renie prank-call people? She was six.”
“Don’t interrupt. She’s always had a deep voice. Anyway, as soon as Deb and Cliff got out of the car—their old ’37 Plymouth—we knew something terrible had happened. They’d heard the news about President Roosevelt on the radio. You were too young to understand.”
“That’s true. I don’t remember anything about it.”
“All the Grovers were in mourning. Even Auntie Vance, who’s tougher than a logger’s tin pants. She was working for the navy at the time. Then Aunt Ellen joined the Red Cross. Oh—speaking of Auntie Vance, she and Uncle Vince are coming down from Whoopee Island Thursday. I hope they bring clams. I’ve got my mouth set for chowder.”
“They might,” Judith said, edging for the door. “She’s definitely tough enough to brave the January cold to dig them at Obsession Shores. But she has a heart of gold and you know it.”
Gertrude sneered. “She’s got you fooled, Toots.”
Judith smiled and headed back to the house. When it came to being tough, her mother could give most people a run for their money.
On Wednesday, a last-minute reservation came in. A reporter for a Midwest newspaper chain was doing a series on Pacific Northwest getaways and hadn’t liked the looks of the motel reserved for him at the bottom of Heraldsgate Hill. He’d checked nearby hostelries, deciding that Hillside Manor was close to downtown and would be a nice change from the nondescript accommodations he’d been staying in as he worked his way north.
Judith had given Jack Larrabee her warmest welcome, hoping he might have a good word about the B&B in his articles. Jack, who was about forty, tall and lean with rather unruly fair hair, had kept a poker face. She figured him for a hard sell, though he would stay two nights.
For now that news was good enough. After the guests’ social hour, Judith got caught up in Joe’s trip preparations. Being a man, he couldn’t find half of the items he needed. In fact, he couldn’t even remember where he’d stored his suitcase. By nine o’clock Wednesday night, Judith finally found it in the basement behind the furnace.
“Why,” she demanded, after dumping it in the hall by the back stairs, “did you put it there instead of with the rest of our luggage?”
“So I’d remember that was the one I want to take instead of something bigger. Or smaller,” Joe explained.
Judith shook her head and went into the living room to relax. As soon as she collapsed on one of the matching sofas in front of the fireplace, the phone rang. With a sigh, she hurried across the room to the cherrywood table to take the call.
“What,” Cousin Renie demanded, “has two legs, two arms, an ornery disposition, and no eyes?”
“Your husband,” Judith replied. “Please don’t tell me Bill’s lost his suitcase.”
“Oh, he’s got that,” Renie said. “But he can’t find the big envelope with his plane ticket and reservations. He thinks I set the whole thing on fire. Is he nuts? I never got a chance to look at all the stuff Joe brought over here. I’ll be glad to see Bill go. If I weren’t afraid to fly, I’d pilot the plane myself.”
“In twelve hours the husbands will be airborne,” Judith reminded Renie. “We’ll be left in peace. Oh—did you know Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince are coming into town tomorrow?”
“Yes, Mom told me. Six times. You know how she likes to call to make sure I haven’t been kidnapped by Somali pirates. Gee—do you suppose that before they sail, their wives have to find all their weapons and list of demands and the how-to-negotiate guidebook?”
“Probably,” Judith said, hearing a loud yelp in the background followed by a lot of cussing. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Bill. What else? Hang on.”
Judith could hear her cousin inquiring if Bill was dying. Since he answered, she figured he wasn’t. The exchange between husband and wife was surprisingly calm. Too calm, since Judith couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“Sheesh,” Renie finally uttered. “Bill found his stuff. He was sitting on it. If he didn’t use four pillows on his favorite chair when he watches TV, he might’ve . . . never mind. Crisis averted. I’m going downstairs to finish the gas company’s annual report concept.” She hung up.
It was after eleven by the time Joe finally got himself organized—with Judith’s help, of course.
“I have to get up at five to get ready for the shuttle,” Joe groused as they climbed the stairs to the family quarters on the third floor. “I’ll try not to wake you.”
“You bet you’ll try,” Judith said, taking her time. The day’s hectic activity had made her artificial hip ache. “But wake me before you leave.”
“You sure you want me to do that?” Joe asked as they reached the top of the stairs.
Judith smiled. “Of course. I really will miss you.”
The gold flecks danced in Joe’s green eyes. “Then maybe we should have a little farewell party now.”
“Won’t that mean you’ll get even less sleep?”
Joe put his arm around Judith, leading her into the bedroom. “I can sleep on the plane.”
Judith leaned against him. “I really hope you have a good time.”
“I will.” Joe brushed her lips with his fingers. “Starting now.”
At six thirty the next morning, Judith barely recalled Joe’s mumbled words of farewell. Struggling out of bed, she blinked several times before looking out the window. It was still dark, but she could hear the patter of rain on the shrubbery next to the house. She was in the kitchen by seven, ready to face the day—without Joe. Judith already missed his help preparing the guests’ breakfast. Even when Joe was on a PI assignment, he rarely stayed out all night. That was a promise he’d made after retiring as a detective for the police department.
Phyliss arrived at nine. The elderly couple from Topeka had almost finished breakfast. Their son was picking them up at nine thirty. The British Columbia sisters hadn’t yet come downstairs, but Jack Larrabee showed up just as the golden agers rose from the table.
“Is it true it never stops raining?” he asked.
“Yes,” Judith replied. “January is usually wet. We often have a lot of wind, too. Sometimes it snows.”
“It wasn’t raining in Portland,” Jack said.
“That’s further south. But the Oregonians have a reason for calling themselves Webfoots. Have you never been to this part of the country?”
Jack shook his head. “The farthest north I’ve been until now is San Francisco. Talk about wind—and fog. Don’t you people get depressed?”
“Yes. I think we-–along wi
th San Francisco—have the highest suicide rate in the country. Unless, of course, cities in Alaska have got us beat. Those endless days—and endless nights, you know.”
Jack shuddered. “I gather you’re not a good PR type for travelers.”
“No. So many visit when we have our four or five days of sunshine. Then they want to move here. We’re getting too crowded. Traffic is horrendous. There are a lot of terrible accidents, with a high rate of fatalities. Newcomers don’t know how to drive in the rain.”
Jack seemed mildly surprised. “You make this city sound like hell.”
Judith shrugged. “I’m only being candid. You may find some people with other opinions. But they probably got here only a month or so ago. I do recall a sunny day in early December. After the fog lifted, of course.” Good grief, Judith thought, am I turning into Renie? I’m being utterly perverse. I need a vacation.
“Yes,” Jack murmured. “I’ll do that. Where should I go to find these more upbeat people?”
“Try the zoo. Locals like watching the animals in the rain.” Hearing the spinster sisters in the hall, she scurried back into the kitchen.
“What animals?” Phyliss asked, pausing in her task of cleaning the backsplash by the sink. “With all this rain, they’re lining up two by two.”
Judith ignored the comment, lest the cleaning woman start in on Noah, which would inevitably lead to Judith asking where he’d found penguins and kangaroos in the Holy Land. Phyliss’s answer would be that those kind of creatures didn’t exist back then.
By eleven, the sisters from BC had checked out. Shortly before noon, Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince arrived.
“Okay, twerp, we got clams,” Judith’s buxom aunt declared, setting a large bucket on the hallway floor. “How many do you and my addled sister-in-law want?”
“Um . . .” Judith gazed at the pile of littleneck, Manila, and butter clams. “Nice. Can I take a couple of gallons? In the shell, I mean.”
Auntie Vance looked irked. “How else? I dig, you clean.” She turned to Uncle Vince, who was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. “Hey, Weber, wake up! Didn’t you get enough sleep while you were driving from the ferry dock?”