by Mary Daheim
“I could tunnel.” Renie gazed around the kitchen. “Where is Joe?”
“He was here a minute ago. Maybe he went down to the basement. Or up to the family quarters.” Judith opened a can of tuna. “Lunch?”
Renie had sat down on the counter, swinging her feet above the golden oak Pergo flooring. “I finished breakfast at ten-thirty. I’m really not hungry now.”
Judith stared at her cousin in mock amazement. “You? Not hungry? Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“Not funny.” Renie was looking unusually serious. “Why are you making tuna salad when you should be trying to figure out who killed the man nobody knows?”
“Because,” Judith said matter-of-factly, “that’s Vivian’s problem. I have faith in the police.” She removed the lid from a jar of mayonnaise and scooped out a heaping tablespoon, shaking it vigorously into the bowl where she’d already added the tuna and salt and pepper. “If you think I want to get mixed up with that woman and her awful problems, you’re crazy. I knew she’d be trouble when she moved back here. I’m not going to touch this homicide with a ten-foot pole.”
“Okay.” Renie hopped off of the counter. “Got any sweet pickles?”
“Look in the fridge.” Judith added relish and stirred the ingredients with more force than necessary.
“I suppose,” Renie remarked, opening a jar of gherkins, “Joe will be up to his ears in this one.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You ought to know.” Renie ate a pickle before she spoke again. “So why did you go to Herself’s house?”
“To be polite,” Judith replied. “Arlene wanted to go, too. So did Rochelle.”
“Neighborly of you.” Renie watched Sweetums enter from the hallway. “Too bad Jeanne Ericson and Naomi Stein weren’t on hand. Sorry I wasn’t a better sub for them, but I couldn’t stand looking at all that repulsive stuff in the living room—including Billy.”
Sweetums leaped up onto the counter. Judith whisked the bowl of tuna salad out of the cat’s reach. “What’s with you?” she demanded of Renie. “Are you suggesting I’m getting involved in this mess?”
“Coz.” Renie regarded Judith with serious brown eyes. “This is one time you should get involved. Whatever else you think about Herself, she’s still—sad to say—a neighbor. The body was found only a hundred feet away from your B&B. Besides,” she added with a sly expression, “if you finger her as the killer, she’ll have to go to prison. End of annoying situation and vulgar decor.”
“Maybe Billy would go back to Florida or Oklahoma or somewhere else far, far away,” Judith muttered, trying to shake off Sweetums, who was clawing her tan slacks.
Renie popped another gherkin into her mouth before leaning down to grab the cat. “You are a greedy menace,” she declared. “I’m turning you over to the Kitty Kops.”
Sweetums squirmed and hissed as Renie carted him out to the back porch. Just as she was setting him down, he scratched her wrist.
“Damn you!” Renie cried as the cat raced off toward the garage and out of sight. “You’ll pay for that!”
“Band-Aids are in the guest bathroom,” Judith said wearily. “You know where to find them. That was a dumb stunt,” she added as Renie went through the dining room to the half-bath off the entry hall. “Sweetums doesn’t like to be touched.”
Phyliss Rackley came up from the basement, carrying a big wicker basket full of clean laundry. “Is that heathen cousin of yours still here?”
“Serena’s in the guest bathroom,” Judith replied. “And she’s not a heathen. She’s Catholic, like me.”
“I don’t get you people.” Phyliss set the laundry on the counter by the computer. “How come your kind worships skunks?”
“Skunks?” Judith was only mildly surprised at the question. The cleaning woman had some very peculiar ideas about Catholicism. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your mother dropped her prayer book this morning when I was cleaning her place,” Phyliss said. “I picked it up for her and saw all those pictures of people with circles around their heads. I handed those to her, then she insisted I didn’t give her the one of what she called ‘The Little Flower.’ Now, I’ve seen that movie Bambi—it’s a clean, wholesome show, not a bit of filth in it—and I know that Little Flower’s the skunk in the forest. So what kind of religion is it that people worship a skunk, no matter how cute it might be in the moving picture?”
Judith sighed. “The Little Flower is a name for Saint Thérèse of Lisieux,” she explained. “That’s because she promised to send down miracles from heaven like rose petals.”
“Rose petals are a miracle? You people are really crazy! What next? Praying to a heifer so somebody drops a rib roast on your head?”
“No, Phyliss,” Judith said, seeing Renie coming back through the dining room. “I’ll explain it to you later.”
“People in India won’t even eat a cow,” Phyliss muttered, putting clean dish towels into a drawer under the counter. “No wonder they all starve to death!”
“Hi, Phyliss,” Renie said with forced enthusiasm. “My, but you’re looking well today. Great tan!”
“Tan?” Phyliss looked startled. “What do you mean, ‘tan’?”
Renie came closer to the cleaning woman. “Oh—maybe not. Your color is more like jaundice. You’d better have that seen to.” She proffered the gherkin jar. “Want a pickle?”
“Not from you,” Phyliss huffed. She turned to Judith. “Do I look jaundiced to you? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Judith made a show of studying her cleaning woman’s appearance. “Well…not really. Maybe it’s a trick of the light.”
Phyliss shot Renie an ominous look. “I can’t trust either of you. I’m going to call my doctor as soon as I put the rest of this laundry away.” She picked up the half-empty wicker basket and stomped off down the hallway. “Why,” she called over her shoulder, “don’t you two go pray to one of your skunks?”
“Wacko,” Renie muttered.
“You should never comment on Phyliss’s health,” Judith admonished. “You know she’s a hypochondriac.”
Renie shrugged and put the gherkin jar back in the fridge. “That’s why I enjoy needling her. It’s payback for all those idiotic questions about Catholics. Skunks, my butt!”
“That reminds me,” Judith said, reaching into the pocket of her slacks and taking out the rose petals she’d found by the Busses’ gate. “I found these when Arlene and I went out the back way at Herself’s.”
Renie looked at the petals. “So?”
“Nobody around here has pink roses.”
Renie laughed. “And you’re not sleuthing!”
Judith shot her cousin a withering glance. “It just seems odd.”
“Does it?” Renie shrugged. “They had a party. Somebody brought flowers as a hostess gift. How many times has that happened here?”
“Did you see any flowers in Herself’s living room?”
Renie pondered the question. “I don’t think so. All I saw was a muscle-bound lump on the sofa watching what looked like a demolition derby. Not to mention some hideous furniture that insulted my artistic eye. But,” she added, “I wasn’t there very long.”
“Arlene and I went through the kitchen to reach the basement door,” Judith recalled. “We didn’t see any flowers—let alone roses—there, either. Oh, I know that a bouquet might have been trashed during the various melees, but why did I find these petals—” She stopped speaking as a sudden thought came to her. “The Dumpster! If a bouquet was thrown away, it’d be in there.”
Renie held up a hand. “If you think I’m going Dumpster-diving, you’re really out of your mind.”
Judith shook her head. “Not us. The cops. They should check all that trash anyway. Just in case.”
“Don’t you think they already did that?”
“Yes,” Judith replied, buttering four slices of bread. “But they wouldn’t consider flowers as evidence.”
Exasperated, Judith waved the butter knife at Renie. “Not necessarily, but the petals seemed out of place. I can’t help it if I’m…curious.”
“Okay.” Renie kept a straight face. “So who asks the cops to look for the pretty pink roses?”
“Ah…” Judith paused, frowning. “Joe.”
“Tell him to do it before the garbage is collected,” Renie said.
“We’ve got the Dumpster until next Tuesday,” Judith pointed out, putting the sandwiches on separate plates. “I’m going to let him know lunch is ready.” She went into the hall by the pantry door and pressed the recently installed intercom to the third-floor family quarters. “Lunch is ready,” she announced and waited for a response. The intercom was silent. “Joe?” Judith said, frowning. She pushed the switch on and off. Not only had it been working properly, but the device was saving her from going up and down two flights of steps when one of them was in the private area and the other was downstairs. Judith repeated the message about lunch. There was still no answer. Shaking her head, she went back into the kitchen.
“Maybe he went outside again,” she said to Renie.
“Um.”
“Coz!” Judith exclaimed. “You’re eating Joe’s sandwich! I thought you weren’t hungry.”
“I wasn’t,” Renie said after swallowing. “Then. I am now. Let’s say I’m eating your sandwich. You can make yourself another one with the rest of the tuna salad.”
“Oooh…” Judith sighed and took out two more slices of bread. “I suppose you want potato chips, too.”
“Right.” Renie gestured with what was left of the sandwich. “I wouldn’t mind some lettuce on this.”
“Get it yourself,” Judith snapped.
“Okay.” Renie ripped off half of a romaine leaf and haphazardly stuck it into her sandwich. “I’m going to peek outside and see what the press is doing.”
“I don’t care as long as they aren’t on our front porch,” Judith asserted, making another sandwich.
By the time she finished, Renie was already back in the kitchen, munching on potato chips.
“Well?” Judith said.
“Well what?” Renie responded.
“What’s going on out there?”
“You told me you didn’t care.”
Judith sighed. “I care about whether they’re still here.”
“They are.”
“But not coming our way?”
“They don’t have to.” Renie paused as she polished off the sandwich. “Joe’s talking to them.”
“Joe?” Judith looked appalled. “Damn him! Why’s he doing that?”
Renie shrugged. “Maybe he’s trying to get equal time. You’ve certainly been in the news more often than he has over the years.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Judith said angrily, shoving Joe’s sandwich into the fridge.
“As long as your husband’s distracting the media,” Renie said, licking some mayo off of her thumb, “I’m going home. Color trends of the future—that’s my next project after the parks brochure. How do you like Banana Peel? Oscar loves it. He’s also crazy about Jungle Green.”
“You can leave immediately,” Judith retorted. “I refuse to listen to you jabber about a stuffed animal.”
“That’s it!” Renie cried. “Oscar Ocher!”
Judith glared at Renie as her cousin strolled nonchalantly out the back door. Less than a minute later the phone rang. To her astonishment, it was Renie.
“I just saw Herself returning to her cozy, yet deadly, bungalow,” Renie said. “Luckily, she didn’t see me in the driveway. The coast is clear for me to pay a quick call on Aunt Gert before I rent a chain saw to cut my mother’s toenails. G’bye.”
Ten minutes later, Joe returned from outside. Judith regarded him with reproachful eyes. “So,” she said, “you caved in to the media.”
“Caved in?” Joe looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“We don’t need that kind of publicity for the B&B. You better not have mentioned Hillside Manor, and I sure hope you didn’t stand in front of the B&B sign on the lawn.”
“Oh, for—” Joe noticed that Judith was putting an empty plate into the dishwasher. “Did you already eat?”
“Yes. Your sandwich is in the fridge.” Her stern gaze didn’t waver. “Well?”
Plate in hand, Joe sat down at the table. “There was no mention of the B&B, and sure as hell no reference to you. The only reason I talked to the media was because they’d spotted me with the homicide detectives, and thought maybe I had some knowledge that the tecs were interested in. I explained that I was retired from the force and just being friendly, checking up on some of the other old-timers.”
“Oh.” Judith was somewhat placated. “Sorry.” She finally lowered her eyes. “It’s just that…you know.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Joe retorted. “I don’t need reminding. Your track record speaks for itself.”
Judith ignored the comment. “Tell me about the detectives.”
“Newcomers, young, white male and black female, Almquist and Griffin. They seem sharp, if inexperienced.”
Before Judith could probe further, the phone rang. Once again it was Renie, calling from her cell. “I’m at Mother’s,” she said. “I wanted to let you know that I didn’t visit Aunt Gert because…” Renie’s voice faded slightly. “Yes, I’m sure she isn’t dead.”
Judith heard Aunt Deb’s faint voice in the background but couldn’t make out the words. “No, Mother, if she has germs, I never got close enough to catch them.” Another pause. “But it’s eighty-two degrees and I don’t need a damned coat! And never mind the sandals, I will not wear socks with them!”
“Coz,” Judith said, putting aside her earlier annoyance with Renie, “you’d better tend to your mom. But why wouldn’t my mother let you in?”
“I don’t know,” Renie said crossly. “She told me to beat it, that’s all. Yes, Mom, I’ll help you with your shoes. What? So how can I cut your toenails if you’re too chilly to take off—” Renie hung up.
Judith set the phone down on the counter. “I’m going to collect Mother’s lunch things,” she said. “Do you have any other plans except hobnobbing with the media?”
Joe shot her a vexed look. “They’re leaving. Forget it. You’re being a pain. I’ll be on the computer upstairs this afternoon, working on those corporate background checks.”
Judith started for the back door, but stopped. “Uh…” She realized it was time for a bite of humble pie. “Really, I am sorry,” she said, turning back. “Too much confusion, not enough sleep, weather still hot, and another murder. I’m frazzled.” She stopped just short of the kitchen table. “If you get a chance,” she said, “that is, when you have a spare moment, could you…ah…ask the police if they found any roses in all the stuff they went through before it was chucked in the Dumpster?”
Joe wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and gazed at Judith with an ironic expression. “Did you lose some roses?”
“No. It’s just that…” She involuntarily put a hand on the pocket where the petals were stashed. “Never mind. It’s not important.” She started again for the back door. Joe didn’t comment on his wife’s request. That, Judith thought, was just as well. Her idea was probably an exercise in futility.
To her surprise, the toolshed door was locked. “Mother?” Judith called, and knocked again. “Mother?”
“Go away!” Gertrude’s voice was more raspy than usual.
“What’s wrong?” Judith shouted.
“Nothing! Take a hike!”
Baffled, Judith stared at the locked door. The toolshed’s small windows were not only closed, but the linen curtains were drawn. Like Aunt Deb, Gertrude’s circulation was poor. Summer’s heat didn’t bother either of the cousins’ mothers.
“Why,” Judith shouted, “won’t you open the door?”
“I can’t hear you!” Gertrude yelled back. “I’m deaf, you know!”
Judith surrendered. As long as the old lady’s lungs sounded strong, she obviously wasn’t in any danger or pain. By the time Judith got back inside the house, Joe had gone upstairs to work on his research assignment. Phyliss was vacuuming the living room. The honeymoon couple had just returned from the public market downtown, where they’d apparently made several purchases, judging from the bags and boxes they carried up to their room.
As Phyliss shut off the vacuum, Judith asked if she knew if any of the other guests were in their quarters.
“Nobody home up there the last time I looked,” Phyliss replied, caressing the handle of the vacuum, which she’d dubbed Moses. “I think someday the two of us are going all the way up to Mount Sinai. Hallelujah!”
“Good for you,” Judith murmured. “When did the Busses leave?”
Phyliss made a face. “The ones with the fancy duds?”
“No. The designer clothes belong to the people from Iowa,” Judith clarified. “Mr. and Mrs. Buss are the couple visiting the other Busses in the cul-de-sac.”
The cleaning woman nodded. “You can put all of ’em in a sack, shake ’em out, and I wouldn’t know the difference. Too many Busses, if you ask me. Anyways, the Buss people left, came back, and left again.” She shrugged. “Could be anywhere. Try Hades.”
Judith went into the front parlor, where she looked out the window into the cul-de-sac. Sure enough, the media vans were leaving. Wistfully, she gazed at the former home of Mrs. Swanson. If only, she thought, Herself’s grandiose plans to build a condo would come to naught. Surely the city wouldn’t allow a multifamily dwelling in such a quiet area. “Wishful thinking,” she said aloud and went into the entry hall.
A voice called to her from the kitchen. Judith hurried through the dining room to find Arlene wearing an expression of triumph and waving a sheet of paper.
“Look what I found in the hedge!”
“Elvis?” Judith answered, only half facetiously. It wouldn’t have been the first time that a person had managed to get lost among the laurel leaves.