by Mary Daheim
“Two out of three would be, if they were true,” said Judith more curtly than she’d intended. Norma was interfering with her goal of catching Tim Mills before he took off on his appointed rounds. Norma, however, could prove useful. “Tell me something, Norma—you’re the sort of spouse who takes a deep, intelligent interest in your husband’s work. How would an heir in a will be tracked down?”
Norma’s expression, which had initially been smug, switched to wary. “Are you referring to that Stella person?”
“Yes. I’m curious,” Judith admitted. “I gather Wilbur didn’t have an address of any kind.”
Norma shrugged her heavy shoulders. “Maybe not. I suppose he’d make a search—advertise, you know.”
Norma seemed too vague for Judith’s taste. “I’ve heard of missing heirs. Though of course,” Judith allowed, “Stella isn’t the heir. And John will no doubt now make a will of his own.”
“In New York.” Norma’s face turned sullen. “Really, it’s so crass of him to take the Tresvant money out of the city. It’s been here for almost a hundred years.”
“Now, now,” said Wilbur mildly, looking more like himself in his dark brown business suit, “we mustn’t be bitter, my dear.”
Norma grunted, splashing holy water on herself as if it were bug repellent. “He’s nothing but an opportunist! I have to have my say, Wilbur, I don’t think he’s entitled to a penny! He was not a family man. Deceitful, that’s what he was. Not the least bit of good will come out of all this!”
“It hasn’t already,” Judith pointed out, wincing at her garbled syntax. “I mean, Sandy’s dead.”
Norma dismissed Sandy’s demise with a wave of her hand. “Oh! Well, I can hardly count a person like that! It would be different if it had been one of us.”
“A pity it wasn’t,” snapped Kurt Kramer, who had apparently lingered in the church proper to pray alone. His blue eyes iced over as he regarded Norma with distaste. “It still could be, the way our fellow parishioners have already begun to wrangle over Emily’s million-dollar bequest. Quinn McCaffrey wants to send out a questionnaire. Good God!”
Fending off trouble, Judith intervened, moving between Kurt and Norma to address Wilbur: “Tell me, if John didn’t get the money for some reason, how would you go about finding Stella Maris?”
At her elbow, Judith could have sworn she heard Kurt snicker. But Wilbur was pulling on his short upper lip and looking judicious. “There are formal procedures. We’d exercise all the means at our disposal, and meanwhile appoint a caretaker for the estate.” He looked at Judith over the rims of his spectacles, an almost shy gaze. “It wasn’t very considerate of Emily to be so secretive about Stella. Ordinarily, we insist on getting a current address for a potential heir. But Emily was very coy.”
“Naturally,” Norma butted in, “Wilbur couldn’t coerce Emily. She was a very important client. Not to mention stubborn as a mule.”
“Did you point out to Emily that there might be a problem?” Judith asked.
Wilbur shuffled a bit in his brown oxfords. “Well, yes. But Emily was adamant. She just gave me an odd little smile and said, ‘Don’t worry about Stella Maris. She won’t be hard to find if you take the trouble to look for her.’”
This time, Judith was sure that Kurt Kramer snickered.
When Judith finally reached the rectory, Tim Mills was involved in a lengthy phone call. Mrs. Katzenheimer provided pale coffee and a litany of complaints about the problems that always cropped up during the pastor’s absence.
“Six couples want their babies baptized, two older parishioners are at death’s door, three marriages have to be performed over the weekend, the Parish Council meeting was postponed, the Altar Society president broke her hip, and the principal’s locked himself out of the school. The next thing I know, the archbishop will make one of his surprise visits. Overwhelming.”
Judith made sympathetic noises, then sat down at the desk usually reserved for the parish secretary, Kitty Duggan, who was spending Easter in the Holy Land. “Did Father Tim go to see Kate Duffy in the hospital?”
“Oh, he did, last night after one of the wedding rehearsals. Poor little Mrs. Duffy, she was a mess! It’s him, I suppose, chasing other women. Men are enough to drive any woman to suicide! Disgusting!” Hilde Katzenheimer made an angry pass with her dustcloth at the glass-fronted book-case.
“Mark?” Judith gave the housekeeper a skeptical look. “Do you really think so?”
Mrs. Katzenheimer straightened a picture of St. Mary Magdalene praying over a rock in the desert. Her thin body twitched indignantly. “Well, don’t you? He’s a handsome devil, with enough charm to coax a kitten out of a tree. I’ve seen the way those silly women in the parish give him the eye. If I had to guess who the Other Woman is, I wouldn’t have to look far, would I? Obvious!”
Judith considered dumping her weak coffee into the Boston fern that stood next to the desk. “Really?”
Mrs. Katzenheimer was looking very self-righteous, her pale blue eyes narrowing and her mouth fixed in a tight line. “You ought to know,” she said pointedly.
Startled, Judith was about to ask why, when Father Tim appeared, full of apologies. “’Tis the season for fallen away Catholics to get an attack of conscience. It happens the week after Easter and the week after Christmas, I’m told. I’d rather they poured out their guilty consciences in the confessional than over the phone, though.” He gave Judith a diffident smile. “Let’s go in the parlor, okay?”
Judith got up to follow his lead. At the door, Mrs. Katzenheimer plucked at Judith’s sleeve. “She ought to be ashamed of herself,” she murmured.
“Who?” Judith whispered back.
“The hussy.” Mrs. Katzenheimer drew herself up to her full, yet unimposing height. “Who else? Arlene Rankers.”
Having thought for some time that she’d heard everything, Judith realized she hadn’t. Until now.
Judith waited quietly while Tim Mills got a grip on his emotions There had been no other way to confront the issue of his parentage than to come right out with the facts. Judith was not happy with the role she’d been forced to play, but she’d acted it out with a minimum of words and a maximum of tact. Nevertheless, Tim Mills was visibly upset.
“The one thing I had were some pictures,” he said when he’d finally wiped at his eyes and had gotten his voice under control. “My aunt—my real mother’s sister—gave them to my adopted parents. I only knew their first names, George and Linda Lou. There was just one picture of my dad.” He paused, leaning back in the armchair and staring off in the direction of the Botticelli Madonna. “It had been taken at Easter, with me on his lap. He was holding a yellow rabbit and looking sort of startled. Maybe it was the flash from the camera. But it was the same expression I saw on Sandy’s face when I was talking about the money for the church. I’d stared at that picture a thousand times when I was a kid. I couldn’t forget that face.” He gave a sad shake of his head, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I’d never seen Sandy up close until then. I just couldn’t believe my eyes. It was such a shock. I thought she—I mean, I was still thinking of Sandy as a woman—must be some relative, like my dad’s sister. Only later, when I found the body, I knew the truth. I couldn’t believe it.” His chin sagged on his broad chest; his hands fell limply at his sides.
Judith gave him a moment to collect himself again. “So you knew before the police did that Sandy was a man? Is that why you went to the nursery, to talk to Sandy?”
Tim’s mouth worked in vain, but at last the words straggled out. “I went to see Sandy alone because I thought she—he—was my aunt, or some other relative. But then—when I found the body—I knew…I mean, I couldn’t believe it…Yet it had to be. But it was so fantastic! How would you like to discover that one of your parents was some sort of…aberration?”
“You get used to it,” replied Judith, thinking of Gertrude, and immediately regretted her flippancy. “That is, Sandy wasn’t exactly an aberration. He was
just pretending to be someone—something—he wasn’t.”
“Maybe.” Tim lifted one broad shoulder in a pathetic manner. “But it really screwed me up. The more I thought about it, the worse it got. All the emotions I’d never dealt with came to the surface. Rage, rejection, even hate. It was pretty horrible.”
“But understandable,” noted Judith. It crossed her mind that those were the same emotions she’d experienced when Joe had dumped her. And jealousy, of course. Whether lovers or spouses or even children, human beings reacted in the same basic ways.
“The strange thing was,” Tim went on as if Judith hadn’t spoken, “Sandy had called the rectory two or three times in the past couple of weeks asking for me. By chance, I was never around. Mrs. Katzenheimer finally made an appointment for Sandy to see me Monday afternoon. I thought it was about the money.”
“Do you still think so?” Judith wished she had a cup of real coffee. The parlor smelled faintly musty. The morning was very still and overcast. Earthquake weather, Judith realized, and felt uneasy.
“I don’t know,” replied Tim, his flushed cheeks returning to their normal color. “He wouldn’t have recognized me, would he? There’s been absolutely no contact with my family in Montana.”
“I don’t see how he could,” Judith admitted. “Though he might have tracked you down through your mother’s sister.”
Tim dispelled that notion. “I never knew her. She felt it was best to keep out of my new life. If it came to that, I doubt she’d know who I was. Besides,” he added, as if he’d just thought of it, “I don’t imagine my aunt would have had much time for the man who’d abandoned her nephew and sister.”
“There was never any question of her adopting you, I take it?”
Tim gave Judith the ghost of a grin. “The reason I got those pictures was because she traveled light. My aunt was a flower child, my mom—my adopted mom—once said.” The grin died; he gnawed at his lower lip. “Despite all this, my parents are Mr. and Mrs. Mills. I don’t want to lose sight of that. They’re terrific people.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Judith. Her mind flitted over a portfolio of topics. There were several questions she wanted to ask Tim, but knew he was anxious to head off for his weekly visit to Vintage Village, the old folks’ home at the bottom of the Hill. Nonetheless, there was something at the back of her brain that nettled. She grimaced, trying to recall what it was, but had no luck. Instead, she asked after Kate Duffy.
“She’ll be fine,” Tim said, seeing Judith to the door. “Physically, I mean. I still can’t get over her taking that stuff. Mark said it was all a mistake.”
“Then it probably was,” Judith said evenly. Whether Kate had drunk nail polish remover to expiate her ancient guilt for leaving the convent, or if she’d done it merely to get Mark’s attention as Renie had surmised, the result was the same: Her husband was dancing attendance, and would no doubt be very solicitous of his wife for a long time to come. There would be no more flirtations, if indeed there ever had been, Arlene Rankers or any other more likely candidate notwithstanding.
In the parking lot, Judith noticed Arlene’s car parked next to her own. A moment later, Arlene came through the cloister, wearing her gardening gear and carrying a trowel and a spade. Even at her grubbiest, Arlene was sufficiently attractive to entice somebody else’s husband. And if a good heart was a prerequisite for seduction, half the men on Heraldsgate Hill would be swooning at her feet. But Judith knew Arlene, and completely dismissed Mrs. Katzenheimer’s wild accusation. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to denounce the rumor publicly. It might be good for Arlene’s ego.
“What are you doing?” Judith asked, aware of the obvious.
Arlene bristled with the exercise of a duty well discharged. “If old Eddie’s gone off on a toot, somebody has to put in those bedding plants before they wilt. Honestly, some people are completely unreliable.” Her blue eyes fixed Judith with a sudden flash of fear. “Do you think he’s dead?”
“I don’t know.” Judith and Arlene exchanged appalled glances. “This is getting to be a scary place.”
Arlene shuddered. “It’s awful. I’ve been looking over my shoulder the whole time I worked. If anybody had come near me, I’d have whacked them with this.” She swung the spade in one hand, leaving no doubt as to her lethal intentions.
“Say, Arlene,” said Judith as a van bearing the inscription Lenny’s Locks pulled into the parking lot, “did the Duffys ever get any of their loot back?”
“No, not a single thing.” Arlene’s face took on a tragic expression. “I think that’s what drove poor Kate to take her life. She missed her pearls.”
“That seems a little extreme to me,” remarked Judith. It also seemed odd that though marked, none of the Duffys’ stolen goods had turned up in five days.
The locksmith was getting out of the van. Arlene turned to greet him. Clearly, they were old acquaintances from Arlene’s previous lapses in locking herself out of the house, the car, and everything but her local polling place. “Hi, Lenny, Quinn McCaffrey asked me to show you the door. This way.” Still armed with her trowel and spade, Arlene led the locksmith out of the parking lot toward the main entrance to the school.
Transfixed, Judith stood alone next to her car for a few moments. One of the elusive puzzle pieces had just falled into place: Only the principal and the pastor had keys to the school. Quinn McCaffrey had lost his, or so he thought. Father Hoyle was out of town. Presumably, so were his keys.
Judith had a feeling that Quinn McCaffrey was mistaken. She had to hurry home and call Joe. She also had to ask Quinn a vital question. And Eve Kramer, too.
Joe wasn’t in. He was testifying at a hearing involving one of his subordinates who had been accused of malfeasance. Woody was at the hearing as well, the bloodless voice informed Judith. They would probably be gone all morning.
The call to Eve also proved fruitless. One of her children answered the phone at the shop and told Judith that Mrs. Kramer was at the dentist’s. Quinn McCaffrey’s wife said that her husband had taken their kids to the aquarium. Even Renie wasn’t home.
Frustrated, Judith hurled herself into the running of Hillside Manor. She had a pair of retired schoolteachers arriving for the night from Idaho. On Friday and Saturday, the B&B would be full with the Californians, newlyweds from across the state, and four bicyclists from British Columbia. Friday night, she had to provide a buffet supper for a group of realtors at a million-dollar condo over on the Bluff. On Saturday, she was set to cater one of the upcoming wedding receptions at the school hall. She hoped and prayed that the event would go more smoothly than the Easter egg hunt. Life went on, however, she realized with an unaccustomed sense of gloom. Some people got married, others were buried. It was all part of humanity’s endless tapestry. A corpse could be hauled out of the nursery one Saturday, and on the next, a bride would use the nursery to change into her going-away outfit. Tears of sorrow and tears of joy looked much the same to the casual observer.
After fixing Gertrude’s lunch, Judith went to work on the food for the realtors’ buffet. The task would take most of the afternoon, and if history repeated itself, would require at least one trip to Falstaff’s to pick up something she’d forgotten on her earlier forays. As she kneaded dough and filled salad molds and stirred sauces, Judith went over the murder case in her mind. Not one of the suspects who had been on hand at the school hall had an ironclad alibi. Any one of them could have slipped into the nursery and killed Sandy. All of them had a motive, however obscure.
But not everyone had access to Eve’s embroidery scissors. In Judith’s mind, there were only three people who could have used those scissors—Eve, Kurt, and the killer. Perhaps it was precipitous to rule out either of the Kramers. Yet Judith’s theories were growing more viable. The puzzle was complete, except for one glaring gap. It wasn’t crucial, but for her logical mind, it was necessary. Judith was almost certain she knew who had stabbed Sandy, she was less sure how it had been accomplished, b
ut ever since she had spoken with Father Tim earlier in the day, she was convinced of the motive. Strange, she mused, whipping up a batch of sour cream frosting, that human beings could be so different, but their emotions so similar. In the case of Sandy’s killer, Judith understood all too well.
The teachers arrived, gray-haired and jolly, headed eventually for the ocean. One was tall and stout, the other small and spare. They were both classic examples of a dying breed, the spinster schoolteacher who had given her life to education. The world was not going to be the same without their dedication, thought Judith, and offered them an early glass of sherry.
By late afternoon, Gertrude was complaining about the weather feeling “too close,” Sweetums dragged in a dead bird, the Californians brought back two bewildered young men in jogging suits, and Judith had to remind her guests that they had paid only for their own stay. Extras weren’t included.
Joe had not called by suppertime. Judith stuffed Gertrude with baked beans and ham, along with some of the fruit salad she’d made for the buffet. “Don’t forget my sandwich to take to Deb’s tomorrow,” Gertrude reminded Judith. “I’d like tongue.”
Heading out across the Hill with three hampers of food, Judith felt her uneasiness grow. She had to talk with Joe. She wished she’d been able to get in touch with Quinn McCaffrey and Eve Kramer, but neither of them had returned her calls so far. Now she would be gone for at least three hours, possibly returning too late to contact anybody until morning.
By then, it might be too late. Judith turned the car toward the Promenade that faced the bay and ringed the Bluff. The old-fashioned globe streetlights on their granite pedestals were not yet turned on. Across the bay, the mountains were obscured by dull, gray clouds. The flowering plum trees that bordered the far side of the Promenade had lost their blossoms and were now filling out with deep red leaves. Somehow, they looked somber against the evening sky, with no wind to give them life. Judith signaled to go right, heading up a side street where the dazzling glass and concrete four-story condominium rose haughtily atop the Bluff.