Vi Agra Falls

by Mary Daheim

  Judith knew the statement was true. The media had featured several stories about outraged citizens who were willing to resort to arson and other illegal means in an effort to halt construction projects. She felt that their actions were misguided, despite sympathizing with their desire to preserve the environment.

  “So,” Judith said, “you think that…what? This man was murdered in an effort to frighten Mrs. Buss?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Griffin said stiffly. “Another scenario would be that the victim was deeply involved in the project, and doing away with him would hamper Mrs. Buss’s progress with the condo construction.”

  “Got any more of those scrambled eggs?” Almquist asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  “No,” Judith snapped.

  Both of Almquist’s plates were empty. “I’ll see if there’s more fruit,” he said, getting up and ambling out of the parlor.

  Judith turned a severe expression on Griffin. “Does your partner always eat during an investigation?”

  “Sometimes.” Griffin’s face was impassive. “Where’s Mr. Flynn? We’d like to talk to him.”

  “‘We’?” Judith echoed. “Why? Does Almquist want his egg recipe?”

  “Sarcasm is counterproductive,” Griffin declared. “Mr. Flynn is on our witness list.”

  “Mr. Flynn is in Atlanta,” Judith replied with some satisfaction. Joe would be able to deal with the situation far better than she seemed to be doing. “In fact,” she went on, “I understand you spoke with him earlier, on Tuesday morning, after you came to look at the body.”

  “That was brief and informal,” Griffin said. “When will he return?”

  Not soon enough, Judith thought. “Tomorrow night, maybe. Or Saturday. He’s working.”

  Griffin made a note for the first time since the interview had begun. “Who else resides here?”

  “You mean other than guests?”

  “Of course.”

  At that moment, Caitlin stepped into the parlor. “Everything’s ready. I’m going to—” She stopped, looking tense. “I have errands to run. ’Bye.” She hurried off through the entry hall.

  “Who’s that?” Griffin inquired.

  “My stepdaughter, visiting from Switzerland,” Judith replied, hearing the college students coming out of the dining room. “No, she wasn’t here when the murder occurred.”

  “No one else?” Griffin inquired.

  “My mother has a separate apartment in back of the house.”

  Griffin looked thoughtful. “She’s quite elderly, I assume.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes.” Sensing that the interview was about to end, Judith held up a hand. “I realize you find me…overly inquisitive, but did Adelita Vasquez attend the Buss party?”

  Griffin scowled. “Vasquez? Oh, the young woman who works for Mr. and Mrs. Buss. No. She had the night off to visit relatives and didn’t return until shortly before midnight. Why do you ask?”

  The honeymooners’ laughter could be heard as they headed out the front door. “You checked her alibi?” Judith inquired.

  “Yes.” Griffin’s face had become impassive. “If your husband is a retired policeman, you should know how cops interact with witnesses. We ask, you answer. That’s it.” She closed her notebook with a vengeance. “We’ll contact Mr. Flynn when he—” A loud crash and a shattering of glass startled both women. A male voice screamed in pain. A female voice shrieked obscenities.

  “What,” Griffin asked, finally showing some animation, “is that?”

  Judith put a hand to her head. “My cousin. And probably your partner.” She walked as fast as she could, heading for the kitchen. Griffin was right behind her.

  Renie was clutching a plate close to her bosom and glaring at Almquist, who was cowering in front of the stove. “Get this freeloader out of here,” she yelled, “or I’m calling the cops!”

  “He is the cops,” Judith said, trying to avoid stepping on the broken plate and shattered juice glass on the kitchen floor.

  Renie snarled as she stared at Almquist. “A cop? So what? Does that give him the right to steal my breakfast? I’m filing a complaint!”

  “She attacked me!” Almquist shouted. “She took my juice!”

  “Ha!” Renie thrust out her chin. “He took my eggs!”

  “Could we have a truce?” Judith demanded in disgust.

  “Truce?” Renie looked shocked. “When did I ever give in?”

  “Never,” Judith shot back. “But that doesn’t mean you’re right.” She turned to Griffin. “You said you were done here. It’d be wise to leave and take your hungry partner with you.”

  “You offered me food!” Almquist cried in an offended voice.

  “I did,” Judith agreed, still calm. “But not all of it. Let’s forget this incident happened.” She shot Griffin a sharp glance. “None of this is a credit to anyone involved. I cannot imagine this kind of behavior by the police when my husband was on the force.”

  Griffin apparently decided to cut her losses, which was just as well, since Renie was still snarling. “Yes,” the female detective agreed. “Let’s go, Jay. Brush the egg off your sleeve.”

  Judith followed the pair to the front door. Griffin, however, wasn’t quite finished. “That woman’s your cousin? Does she live here?”

  “No,” Judith said emphatically. “And she wasn’t around the night before the murder. She knows nothing.”

  “She knows how to make a scene,” Griffin murmured and stalked out of the house.

  In the kitchen, Renie was sweeping up the crockery and glass. “The breakage rate is climbing,” she remarked in an ordinary voice. As usual, her temper was quick to ignite and almost as quick to extinguish. “Are you sure those are real cops?”

  “I assume so,” Judith said. “Like most of the younger set, they’re a different breed. Not that cops or any other profession weren’t flawed in the past. People are people. The difference, maybe, is style, not substance. Can you check some records on the computer?”

  Using a dustpan, Renie dumped the broken pieces into a small garbage can. “What now?”

  “Divorce records for Herself.”

  “Gee,” Renie said, “I’m not sure there’d be room on your hard drive to download all of them.”

  “I only want one—the first, from Johnny Agra.”

  Renie got out a clean plate, filled it with some of the leftover food, and sat down at the computer. “I’ll try to find a site where you don’t have to pay for looking at the records.”

  Judith nodded absently as she opened the phone directory. “Ah! I found Carney Mitchell with an Eastside address. I’m calling him.”

  Renie looked up from the monitor. “Carney Mitchell? Who’s that?”

  “A retired cop who showed up at Vivian’s party,” Judith replied, dialing the number. “Carney?” she said as a male voice answered on the third ring. “This is Judith Flynn, Joe Flynn’s wife. How are you?”

  “Ah—fine,” Carney replied, sounding startled. “What’s up?”

  “Joe’s out of town,” Judith said, “but he’ll be back this afternoon.” She ignored Renie’s puzzled look. “He saw you at Vivian’s party and wanted me to ask if you could have a drink with us around five. For old times’ sake.”

  “Today?” Carney paused. “Heck, I can’t make it today. In fact, I’m heading off for vacation in a couple of hours. Tell Joe I’ll try to get together with him when I get back, okay?”

  “Sure,” Judith said. “By the way, have you got a number for Andy Pruitt? My phone book doesn’t have listings for people who live as far north as he does.”

  “I’m not sure,” Carney answered. “Andy spends most of the year in Arizona or someplace. Until Vi’s bash, I hadn’t seen him in six years. Got to run. Got to pack. For vacation.”

  “Have fun,” Judith said, and clicked off. “Liar.”

  Renie turned to look at Judith. “Corny’s a liar?”

  �
�Carney. Yes. He says he’s leaving on vacation. I don’t believe him. He’s avoiding me. Or Joe.”

  “If Carney came here, how would you explain Joe’s absence?”

  Judith shrugged. “That’s easy. His flight home got canceled. How are you doing there, Coz?”

  “Not so good,” Renie said. “I can’t find a divorce decree in this city or county for Vivian and Johnny Agra. What was her maiden name?”

  “I don’t think I ever knew,” Judith admitted. “I doubt if she remembers.”

  Caitlin came through the back door. “Why,” she demanded, looking frazzled, “did I decide to drop in on my mother? Why didn’t I just go past her house and do my errands?”

  “Your mother’s up?” Judith said, surprised. “It’s only ten o’clock.”

  “For all I know, she never went to bed.” Caitlin pointed to the phone directory on the counter. “May I use that?”

  Judith nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “I wish I’d never come,” Caitlin grumbled, flipping through the yellow pages. “Living abroad is the smartest thing I ever did. Whenever I see my mother, I get trapped in her—Ah! Here it is, The Travel Inn at the bottom of the hill.” She got her cell phone out of her purse and dialed.

  “Progress?” Judith asked her cousin in a low voice.

  “I finished breakfast,” Renie murmured. “That’s about it.”

  “How far back do those records go?” Judith inquired.

  “Quite a ways,” Renie said.

  “Maybe Caitlin can help us. She might know—” Judith stopped as Caitlin asked to be connected to a Mandrake Stokes.

  “Yes,” Caitlin said into the phone. “I think he wasn’t checking out until tomorrow. Would you please have him call me? The number is…”

  “The dapper guy who couldn’t tell one Mrs. Flynn from another?” Renie whispered.

  “It must be.”

  Caitlin thanked whoever was at the other end and hung up. “I’m not calling my husband,” she declared. “Mom thinks lawyers must be able to solve every legal problem. She has no understanding that many lawyers, like Claude, specialize. And she wants free advice.”

  “On what?” Judith asked.

  Caitlin poured herself a mug of coffee. “She’s trying to unload Potsy’s ranch. It’s huge, one of the biggest in Oklahoma. This Mr. Stokes came to see her yesterday to make an offer on behalf of a college near the ranch. They want to lease it as part of their agricultural curriculum. At least that’s what I figured out from her garbled account. Now she insists that I meet with this Stokes and try to understand what’s going on. Frankly, that sort of thing is out of my league.”

  “I met Mandrake Stokes,” Judith said. “He got mixed up and came here first by mistake.”

  Caitlin’s green eyes widened. “Really? He sounds addled, too. Not that I blame Mom for wanting to unload the property, but she has no head for business, and of course Billy doesn’t, either.”

  “Would this sale involve Frankie and Marva Lou?” Judith asked.

  Caitlin shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Mom claims she got everything in the will. What she needs is a competent local attorney.”

  Judith gazed at her cousin. “Bub?”

  “No.” Renie shook her head. “I’m too fond of my brother-in-law to let him get involved with Vivian.”

  “Good point,” Judith murmured. “Caitlin, what’s your mother’s maiden name?”

  Caitlin smiled. “Smith. Really. Vivian Smith. Why?”

  Judith decided to be candid. “I’m trying to figure out when she got her first divorce decree. Renie can’t find it under Johnny Agra’s name. Is it possible she didn’t get the divorce in this city or county?”

  “Anything is possible with Mom,” Caitlin said dourly. “She could’ve gone to Nevada in those days for a quickie divorce. She always had ties there, which, I think, is why she hustled Dad to—” She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I know that’s a sore point with you. But you see what I mean.”

  Judith dismissed the reference. “What kind of ties?”

  “Her older brother, George, was a chef at one of the casinos,” Caitlin explained. “I forget which one. I gather that many of the old landmarks have been demolished to make way for lavish new hotel-casinos. Anyway, George has been dead for a few years. I must dash.” She grabbed her shoulder bag and went out the back way.

  “I’m dashing, too,” Renie said. “I have to get an estimate on the toilet damage so I can submit a claim to the city or our insurance company. And I’ll have to visit my mother to prove I’m still alive.”

  After Renie left, Judith tried to focus on her daily tasks. She found a new bottle of furniture polish for Phyliss, who claimed she was losing her sight, but could be cured by putting mud packs on her eyes like the blind man in the Bible. Two more reservation requests came in for October, one from Maryland and the other from Ontario. It was almost lunchtime when Mavis Lean-Brodie called.

  “Listen up, Judith,” Mavis said in the less-than-cheery voice she often used on TV. “You’re going to owe me for this one.”

  “Which is?” Judith asked warily.

  “I found out who claimed the body from the morgue. Interested?”

  Judith tensed in anticipation. “Yes.”

  “It was the vic’s daughter,” Mavis said, sounding smug. “Aileen Rosenthal of Culver City, California. The vic is Carlo Giovanni Di Marco.” She spelled the names slowly and precisely.

  Judith was puzzled. “How’d you manage that?”

  “Can’t tell you,” Mavis replied. “I’m a journalist, remember? I don’t reveal my sources. In fact, I can’t reveal what I just told you, at least not in public. This whole thing at the morgue was a screwup. A couple of people could get canned if I used this on the air.”

  “What if someone else in the media gets hold of it? They may not…” Judith paused. “I have a problem using your name and ‘scruples’ in the same sentence, but some journalists are unprincipled.”

  “Not a chance, and never mind why,” Mavis said. “As for ‘scruples,’ what about you? How many lies have you told in the course of your career as FATSO?”

  Judith sighed. “Okay, we’re even. I’ll try to pay you back eventually, but frankly, I don’t see how this helps solve the murder.”

  “Neither do I,” Mavis retorted. “That’s how you can show your gratitude. I get the goods, you nail the killer. Good luck.”

  Mavis rang off.

  18

  The names Mavis had given Judith rang no bells. She couldn’t think of any connection, unless the dead man had stolen Charles Brooks’s wallet. But what was the link between Di Marco and Brooks? Logic eluded her. Judith stared out through the kitchen window, but her brain felt as thick, if not as vigorous, as the Rankerses’ hedge.

  She grabbed the receiver, hit the caller ID button, and retrieved Mavis’s number. “You left something out,” Judith said after Mavis answered on the second ring. “Where is this Di Marco from?”

  Mavis groaned. “God, but you’re a pain. How should I know? He didn’t have any proper ID, or else the body wouldn’t have been misidentified in the first place. Try Jupiter. I’m up against deadline.” She severed the connection.

  A few minutes later the phone rang just as Judith started making Gertrude’s lunch.

  “Just letting you know what’s going on in Dixie,” Joe said. “I’m heading out for a dinner meeting with a retiree in Kennesaw who worked with the Wirehoser candidate. Dare I ask how it’s going with you?”

  “It’s not.” Judith sat down at the kitchen table and considered giving Joe a detailed report, but thought better of it. Many of the bits and pieces she’d collected in her head were guesswork. That was anathema to Joe, a veteran detective who’d relied primarily on solid evidence. “When will you be home?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he replied. “Tomorrow night? More likely Saturday. These southerners really do live at a more leisurely pace. I guess it’s the heat and humidity.”

  “I don’t bla
me them,” she said. “It doesn’t seem as hot here as it did yesterday. I have a question—why would Carney Mitchell avoid me?”

  “Carney? What’re you talking about?”

  Judith wished she hadn’t asked. “Well…it was something Ray Campbell said.”

  “Ray Campbell? You mean that Ray Campbell?” Joe’s tone had become irritated. “When the hell did you talk to Ray?”

  “He was at Vivian’s the other day when I dropped by,” Judith admitted. “He was at the party, right?”

  “I saw him, but that was it,” Joe replied, still annoyed. “I didn’t really know Ray. The only thing we had in common was…you know.”

  “Yes, I do.” It was Judith’s turn to get riled. “Never mind. Here’s Mother. Have a nice trip to Kennesaw.” She banged down the phone.

  Gertrude was sailing up the back porch ramp in her motorized wheelchair, announcing her arrival with the ga-goo-ga horn she’d attached to the controls. “I’m on a hunt,” she announced. “I’m going to shake down your cleaning woman. Where is that crazy old bat?”

  “Upstairs,” Judith replied. “Are you still looking for your candy?”

  “You bet,” Gertrude retorted as Sweetums padded softly behind the wheelchair. “Did you ask her about it?”

  “I forgot,” Judith confessed. “It’s been hectic here this morning.”

  “So?” The old lady glared at her daughter. Sweetums had leaped into Gertrude’s lap, a habit he’d recently acquired, and he seemed to enjoy going along for the ride. “Between your crazy guests and those dead bodies you keep finding, how do you expect to run this house on a system? Remember what your Grandma Grover said—you have to have a system, or you don’t get anything done. She never found any dead bodies, I can tell you that.”

  “Maybe not,” Judith responded, “but Grandpa Grover found a severed head under his streetcar when he was a conductor for the city. He found one on the train tracks, too, when he worked in the sawmill.”

  “That’s to be expected,” Gertrude said. “Trolleys, trains, trucks—people are clumsy when they’re going somewhere. What’s for lunch?”

  “Ham and cheese with fresh cherries and potato chips.”