by Mary Daheim
Dedication
In Memoriam
Dale Douglas Dankers
1929–2015
Contents
Dedication
Author’s Note
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Author
Also by Mary Daheim
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Author’s Note
The story takes place in May 2006.
Chapter 1
Judith McMonigle Flynn got out of her aging Subaru, slammed the car door shut, and realized she’d locked her keys inside. “Damn,” she said under her breath. But all was not lost. No doubt the back door was open. It was a pleasant May afternoon with the old cherry and pear trees blooming in the garden behind Hillside Manor.
As she reached the porch steps, her mother sailed her motorized wheelchair out of the house and down the ramp. “Good luck, Toots!” Gertrude Grover cried. “There’s something really ugly in the kitchen.”
“What?” Judith called over her shoulder, wincing as the old lady narrowly missed Sweetums, who had been lurking by the birdbath. The cat hissed before slinking off into the shrubbery.
Gertrude kept going to the converted toolshed that served as her apartment. Apprehensive, but even more curious, Judith went up the steps, through the hall, and entered the high-ceilinged kitchen. To her surprise, Joe Flynn was taking the last of a banana cream pie out of the refrigerator.
“Why aren’t you on your surveillance job?” she asked.
“It’s done,” her husband replied, setting the pie on the kitchen table. “The adulterers skipped town. You know I won’t go outside the county since I’m semiretired.”
Judith kissed Joe’s cheek. “I didn’t see your MG. Is it parked out front?”
Joe shook his head. “It wouldn’t start when I left the apartment building across the ship canal. I had to have it towed.” He put the piece of pie on a small plate and sat down. “Face it, the MG’s old. It’s entitled to have some problems. Where’ve you been?”
“At the bank,” Judith replied, sitting across from him. “Some guests paid cash this week. I don’t like keeping money on hand, not even in the safe.” She paused, gazing around the kitchen. “Mother said something ugly was in here. What is it?”
Joe’s round face was droll. “Me, probably.”
“Oh. I should have guessed.” Judith felt sheepish. “I locked myself out of the Subaru.”
Joe’s green eyes twinkled with amusement. “How come? That’s not like you.”
“I guess I’m still upset about Mike being transferred to the Bread Loaf Wilderness in Vermont. Could he and his family be farther away?”
“Technically, yes,” Joe replied seriously. “Hawaii or Florida or—”
Judith waved an impatient hand. “Stop! Admit it, it’s not like they can drop in whenever they have time. During the years he was at the national forest an hour away, it was perfect. He and Kristin could come by with the two boys whenever they had a day off. They could even spend holidays with us. Now . . .” She let her hand trail away.
“Hey,” Joe said, leaning closer. “We’ll go back there in the fall, okay? Maybe the Joneses would like to come along. Your cousin is the only one of us who’s been to New England. It’d be a great trip.”
Judith remained glum. “Renie got shot at when she was in Maine.”
“Your goofy cousin took the wrong road during hunting season,” Joe reminded his wife. “She should’ve known it wasn’t the highway to Canada. It was gravel, not pavement.”
“She was enjoying the autumn scenery,” Judith asserted. She brightened. “Are you serious about going to New England in the fall?”
Joe shrugged and swallowed his last bite of pie. “Why not? Bill and I feel a little guilty over our Great Barrier Reef fishing trip this past winter. You and Renie got stuck house-sitting for Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince. Spending a weekend on the beach in January couldn’t have been a lot of fun.”
“It was kind of . . . dull,” Judith murmured. She and her cousin had sworn each other to secrecy about the corpse they’d found on their first outing at Obsession Shores. There was a limit to how much mayhem Joe and Bill were willing to put up with when it came to their wives getting in serious trouble. “I need your key to get mine out of the car,” she said, standing up and holding out her hand.
Joe delved into his pants pocket where he kept the extra Subaru key. “Here. Cheer up. You’ve got a full house this weekend. The B&B’s been busy this spring. Lots of visitors in town. You ought to be happy.”
Judith clutched the keys tightly. “I’d be happier if so many of them didn’t decide to move here. Have you looked at how real estate prices have risen lately? Especially here on Heraldsgate Hill.”
“Location, location,” Joe murmured, getting out of the chair. “I’d better call to see if Ron up at Hillcrest Auto Repair has had a chance to look at the MG. By the way, he mentioned some guy had come nosing around to ask if he’d be interested in selling his business, property and all. Of course he said no.”
“That’s curious,” Judith murmured. “Carrie at the bank said someone had offered big bucks to the hair salon down the street. They also said no.”
Joe nodded. “The hill has gotten too popular the last few years. Close to downtown, yet sort of off the beaten bath. It’s become a really hot commodity. Secluded, in its way, since people don’t come up here unless they have a reason.”
“True,” Judith agreed. “When I was growing up here, it seemed like a separate world. Oh—did you put out the barbecue?”
“Yeah,” he replied, his green eyes fixed on the refrigerator. “We can start using it. It’s still got quite a few briquettes left over from last summer. Hey—what happened to the rest of the banana cream pie? There was only that one slice left.”
“Ask Mother,” Judith said. She tried not to stare at Joe’s slight paunch. “I didn’t eat it. Neither of us needs pie during the day.”
“Speak for yourself,” Joe murmured, and headed up the back stairs.
Judith went outside to retrieve her keys. On the way back into the house, she almost ran into Phyliss Rackley, who was carrying a load of laundry up from the basement.
“Careful!” her cleaning woman warned. “Is Satan after you again?”
Judith caught her breath. “I didn’t find him in my car.”
“He’s everywhere,” Phyliss said gloomily, her gray sausage curls bobbing as she kept going up to the second-floor guest rooms. “Beware!”
Shaking her head, Judith continued on to the kitchen and glanced at the old schoolhouse clock. It was ten to two. Not only would she have all six guest rooms filled, but she was hosting a marriage ceremony at noon on Saturday. She’d had some experience with weddings at Hillside Manor over the years. Counting back, this would be the seventh such celebration, though four of the events had been only for the receptions. All of this weekend’s guests were connected to the bride and groom, a young couple from the Los Angeles area.
The phone rang as she was about to call th
e florist.
“What time should I show up tomorrow?” her cousin Renie inquired, not sounding very enthusiastic.
“Ten thirty?” Judith suggested warily.
Renie let out a sigh that traveled up and over and down the other side of Heraldsgate Hill. “You know I’ll be barely conscious at that ungodly hour. Why didn’t they schedule an afternoon wedding instead of high noon? That’s a stupid time. And why do I have to come so early? It’s all too primitive.”
“You know damned well why,” Judith retorted. “I need your help. Phyliss doesn’t work weekends. She goes to her weird church both Saturday and Sunday. And don’t ask why because I never have and I don’t want to know.”
“Ooooh,” Renie said in mock chagrin. “Somebody’s crabby. Do I detect rebellion?”
“Just . . . stress.” Judith suddenly had an idea. “How about a compromise regarding your wake-up call? Why don’t you and Bill come for dinner tonight and get acquainted with who’s who for the wedding party? That’ll save time tomorrow morning. They won’t get here from the airport until going on six.”
Renie didn’t answer right away. “Well . . . just don’t expect Bill to pretend he’s polite and talk to these people, okay? You know he’s not a social animal. He can fake it if he has to, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Never mind,” Judith said. “Tell him I’m making Auntie Vance’s beef noodle bake. He likes that, right?”
“Yes,” Renie replied. “It suits his Midwestern origins. How many years were we married before I could coax him into eating Dungeness crab? I finally told him that in this state, not eating it is legal grounds for a native’s no-fault divorce.”
“It should be,” Judith agreed. “See you at five thirty?”
“Got it. I have to work on that mailing design for Gutbusters Warehouse. How do you convey buying in large quantities to get their deep-discount prices?” Renie didn’t pause for an answer. “I’ve got it! A Jolly Green Giant juggling cases of string beans. Bye.” She hung up.
The afternoon passed in its usual busyness of making hors d’oeuvres for the guests’ social hour, starting dinner preparations, and dealing with Phyliss’s concerns over the morals of the wedding party.
“I saw your guest list on the bulletin board,” she said, her gaunt figure virtually shaking with indignation. “Two of those couples aren’t married. How can you allow such depravity under your own roof?”
“The bridal couple is about to be married,” Judith pointed out, “and Dr. Sophie Kilmore is married to Clayton Ormsby, but she goes by her maiden name.”
Phyliss scowled. “Kilmore isn’t a very good name for a doctor. It gives a bad impression. She should be Ormsby.”
“None of my business,” Judith murmured, watching Sweetums try to wedge his orange-and-white furry body into an open cupboard near the sink. “Are you done for the day?”
“I should hope so,” Phyliss asserted. “I have to catch the bus in ten minutes. They’ve changed the schedule. Again. Changed my stop where I get off, too. I have to walk an extra block past an ungodly tavern. I reek of satanic fumes when they leave the door open. I have to change, too—change my clothes right away, even my undies.” She glared at Sweetums, who was now sitting a couple of feet away and glaring back at the cleaning woman. “Speaking of Satan . . .” she murmured—and stalked off down the hall, grabbing her black raincoat along the way. “Enjoy your sinners!” she called as she left the house.
Joe appeared in the kitchen shortly before five thirty. “The news from Ron isn’t all that great,” he said, reaching for a bottle of Scotch. “It’s the gearshift and the engine and—”
“Stop!” Judith put her hands over her ears. “Please! How much?”
Joe set the bottle on the counter and gently removed Judith’s hands so he could be heard without shouting. “At least two grand. They’ll let me know Monday. Maybe the MG’s not worth the expense.”
“You bet your fat butt it isn’t,” Gertrude declared, rolling into the kitchen. “You and your fancy foreign cars! Why not buy a Chevy?” She turned to Judith. “And where’s my supper? You know I like to eat at five o’clock. I’m wasting away out in that stupid toolshed while you two get tanked before your gruesome out-of-town guests show up.”
“Renie and Bill are coming to dinner,” Judith said. “I thought you might like to join us.”
Gertrude narrowed her faded blue eyes at her daughter. “At six? I’ll have passed out by then. That’s when my TV shows come on. I’ve seen my niece and her husband before. The programs are new.”
“What comes on at that time except news and sports?” Judith asked, keeping one eye on Joe, who was making their cocktails.
Her mother briefly looked puzzled. “The news is always new. That’s why they call it news, dummy.” She glanced at her son-in-law. “Say, I wouldn’t mind having a shot of that stuff. It’s good for what ails me.”
Why not? Judith thought. Her mother had come of age in the era of bathtub gin. She could probably drink paint thinner and not show any ill effects. Every time Judith saw the old framed photo of Gertrude wearing a cloche hat and short skirt while behind the steering wheel of a Model A convertible, Judith figured her mother would easily reach the century mark. And beyond . . .
“A GT?” Joe inquired.
Gertrude nodded. “How come I’m surprised you know some of the letters of the alphabet, Dumbo?”
“I finally concentrated,” Joe replied drily. “During my years on the police force, I only learned APB, WINQ, and MOE.”
“MOE?” Gertrude echoed. “That must’ve been you. Which one of the Three Stooges was your old partner, Woody?”
Before Joe could answer, Renie and Bill entered through the open back door. “We’re early,” Judith’s cousin announced. “My husband likes being early.”
Judith glanced at the clock. “It’s five thirty-one,” she noted.
Bill looked exasperated. “I knew we’d be late.” He grimaced at his wife. “You just had to change your shoes.”
“I wasn’t wearing shoes,” Renie asserted. “You know I never wear shoes inside the house. Hi, Aunt Gert.” She leaned down to kiss the old lady’s cheek.
“What are you, Serena?” Gertrude demanded. “A hillbilly? Why don’t you wear shoes like normal people? What does your mother think about that?”
“She thinks I’m weird,” Renie responded indifferently. “Oh, ugh, gin. Bill and I are allergic.” She frowned at Judith. “You know that, coz.”
“We weren’t going to force it down your throats,” Judith said wryly. “Scotch for Bill, bourbon for you.”
But Bill shook his head. “Vodka. It’s spring.”
“Make that two screwdrivers,” Renie said. “We always change liquors the first week of May. Unless we forget.”
Gertrude took a big swig out of her glass. “I forgot I’m not staying here for dinner. My lazy daughter’s trying to starve me into submission. I’m heading back to my cardboard shack to watch the news and find out which high-placed politician got busted for romancing a possum and letting it drive his limo. Or would that be a she instead of an it?” The wheelchair spun around as the old lady whizzed off down the hall and out of the house.
“Someday,” Joe murmured, “I’m going to ticket my not-so-loving mother-in-law for speeding in that thing.”
“I want one of those,” Bill murmured. “It’d come in handy when I nod off during a session with one of my zany psychology clients. I could claim the visiting nurse was coming to see me. I wonder if she’d look like Eva Marie Saint?” He gazed at his wife. “You don’t.”
“Thanks,” Renie muttered. “My self-esteem is shattered. Again.”
“Everything’s under control for dinner and the guests,” Judith declared. “Let’s sit in the living room.”
The foursome adjourned through the swinging half doors into the dining room, across the hall, and on to the spacious living room.
“I made a copy of the guest list,” Judith said a
fter they’d sat down on the matching blue sofas in front of the dormant fireplace. “Here, have a look.” She handed over the single sheet of paper to her cousin.
Scanning the list, Renie made a face. “Rodney Schmuck? Is that his real name?”
“Apparently,” Judith replied. “I always check driver’s licenses.”
“Hey,” Joe said, leaning toward Bill, “want to see the way I put together the album of our fishing trip?”
Bill practically vaulted off the sofa. “You bet. Let’s do that somewhere else. Like Peru. Say, ever think about fishing off the coast of Chile during . . .”
The cousins exchanged irked expressions. “Why,” Judith murmured, “can’t men be as interested in people as they are in fish?”
“Because, as my mother would say, ‘Men aren’t like other people—dear.’ You have to add the ‘dear’ so Mom gets credit for saying it. Often.”
Judith smiled. “I always liked that comment. It’s as pithy as Grandma Grover’s ‘There are worse things than not being married.’ I often thought of that during the nineteen years I was stuck with Dan before all four hundred pounds of him blew up.”
Renie’s expression was sympathetic. “The rest of the family felt like you were in exile out in the crummy Thurlow District while you were married to El Blimpo. We hardly ever saw you. Between you working two jobs while Dan worked not at all, he kept you a virtual prisoner.”
Judith nodded. “The nightly phone calls with you after Dan went to sleep or passed out were a lifeline. They helped keep me sane.” She gestured at the list. “Rodney and Camilla Schmuck are the bride’s parents. Note the daughter’s name is Arabella. She likes to be called Belle. Oh—Camilla prefers Millie.”
“Belle also prefers not being a Schmuck anymore,” Renie remarked. “I assume her roommate, Clark Stove, is the groom.”
“That’s Stone,” Judith said. “My handwriting’s a bit cramped.”
“That’s an improvement over Stove.” Renie studied the list again. “Clark’s parents won’t be on hand?”
“His parents are divorced,” Judith explained. “I don’t know anything about the father, but Mom is Cynthia Wicks, second husband is Stuart Wicks.”