by Mary Daheim
Rodney had also gotten to his feet. “Hey, I couldn’t go on lying to you, Mama. I always felt you’d give me a bad time if I did. I mean, I knew you were the kind of person who’d teach me about honesty being the best policy. If you’d been there to raise me, that is.” He started back to the dining room, but stopped. “We got our own prayer stuff to do. I wonder if Georgie will pass the hat. Oh, well.” He pushed open the swinging half doors and left the kitchen.
Judith hurriedly changed clothes up in the third-floor family quarters. She’d met Joe coming down. He told her he’d be waiting in the Subaru. He sounded a bit melancholy, no doubt because the MG was out of commission.
On the way up the hill to church, Judith told him about Rodney.
Joe wasn’t particularly sympathetic. “The guy’s probably an alcoholic. His brain may’ve gotten fried from booze a long time ago. All his pals may enable him, including the reverend. Rodney seems to have money from somewhere. Woody will check into that.”
By chance—or bad luck—just after Joe pulled in to park on the parish school’s playground, Norma and Wilbur Paine’s imposing black Chrysler glided in next to the aging Subaru. The Paines’ car always reminded Judith of a hearse. Norma’s equally imposing body erupted from the passenger side.
“Judith!” she called. “What’s going on? We haven’t heard from your Realtor guests. Are they not diligent?”
“It’s a long story,” Judith replied, realizing that the Paines didn’t know about the latest Hillside Manor disaster. “For one thing, Mr. Schmuck’s not feeling very well.”
“Well!” Norma joined Judith while the husbands took up the rear. “Maybe we wouldn’t want sickly agents representing us. This Schmuck’s problem isn’t serious, I trust?”
“No,” Judith replied. “But you have to do what’s best for your situation. You know there are some fine real estate firms that are well acquainted with properties around here. As you may know, Cathy Rankers works for one of them.”
Norma made a face. “I’d rather not deal with Cathy. You of all people know what Arlene’s like. She’s terribly opinionated.”
If anyone could give Arlene a run for her opinions, it was Norma. A vision of pot and kettle danced in Judith’s mind’s eye. But she merely shrugged. “I thought you might want to deal with someone you already knew, especially a fellow parishioner.”
“I think not,” Norma said with a faint sniff of disapproval as they entered the vestibule. “It’s not wise to do business with people you know. They take advantage. Indeed, consider what happened when I asked you to host the dinner for us that . . .” She stopped abruptly, seeing Carl and Arlene chatting with two of the adult Dooleys. “Come, Wilbur,” Norma said, grabbing her husband’s sleeve. “Let’s find a place to sit that isn’t near any of those dreadful Dooley children. They’re such a nuisance.”
Joe was smiling wryly. “Poor Wilbur. Why hasn’t he strangled that woman? Or at least told her to put a sock in it. He’s the poster boy for the henpecked husband.”
Judith didn’t comment. She spotted Renie and Bill sitting on the opposite side of the church. Coming from the hill’s north slope, they always parked in the smaller lot by the rectory. Bill, as usual, was staring straight ahead, no doubt meditating, as was his custom. Renie, of course, was darting her eyes in every direction, probably trying to decide who was the least worst-dressed among her female fellow parishioners. She spotted the Flynns and offered them a small wave.
The organ played and the procession processed. As was often the case, Judith’s mind occasionally wandered from the liturgy. But she did pray for the repose of Millie’s soul and for Rodney to recover from whatever ailed him, even if it came out of a bottle. She also listened to Father Hoyle’s sermon. The tall, chisel-featured, white-haired pastor always imparted something worth hearing.
At the sign of peace, Judith put on her friendliest smile to shake hands with the people nearby. When she turned around, she was startled to see Agnes Crump.
“I’m Catholic,” Agnes murmured, giving Judith’s hand a limp shake. “Charlie’s not.”
“Oh.” It was the only thing Judith could say as the liturgy resumed. When Mass was over, she noticed that Mrs. Crump had already slipped away.
Joe hadn’t seen the visitor. “I got caught up watching some of the Dooley kids across the aisle pummeling each other during the peace exchange. Agnes must’ve walked up to church. Maybe we can find her and offer a ride.”
“There’s something kind of pathetic about Agnes,” Judith said after they were in the car. “As I recall, she and Charlie are actually friends with Clark Stone’s father, though she did work as a legal secretary for Stuart Wicks. I wonder if Agnes and the Wickses are close. They’re certainly different types of personalities.”
“I don’t see Agnes anywhere,” Joe remarked after they pulled out of the parking lot. “Maybe she thought she could go straight down from the church to our house. I assume Agnes came up the hill via Heraldsgate Avenue since they must’ve arrived at the B&B that way. She’d have no way of knowing that the street by the church doesn’t go all the way through because of the park.”
“She can’t get too lost,” Judith said, also scanning their route. “Though some of the streets around here are oddly numbered.”
Joe had turned onto the Avenue. “Agnes Crump’s not a naive kid off the farm, she’s a middle-aged woman from L.A. and a legal secretary. What does Charlie do for a living?”
Judith frowned. “Agnes said he did insurance work at home. His own agency, I gathered. I wonder if Cynthia and Stuart Wicks will leave for L.A. tomorrow. Or will Woody insist they stay close by?”
Joe shot Judith a quick glance. “You want me to bug my old buddy on the Sabbath? The Prices are Methodists. They probably won’t get home from church until after noon. You know how Protestant services go on and on. Besides, Sondra teaches Sunday school and Woody spends time after church arranging food baskets for the poor and the infirm.”
“Stop!” Judith cried. “Now I feel like I’m shirking my Christian duties. At least you work on some of the church and school repairs.”
“Not if I can get out of it,” Joe said, turning off the Avenue to head for Hillside Manor. “My back, you know.”
“Your back? What’s wrong with your back?”
“I have one. It could go out at my age. No heavy lifting.”
Judith curled her lip at Joe. “You’re a bit of a con man. You always were, in some ways.”
“It’s an inherent part of my good cop/bad cop persona,” Joe declared. “While I was on the job I needed to con the occasional con to get a confession.”
Judith shot him a withering look and didn’t speak again until they arrived at Hillside Manor.
Gertrude had just exited the toolshed. “Well!” she called to Judith. “Are you two coming or going or do you know the difference?”
“We’ve been to church, Mother,” Judith replied. “It’s Sunday.”
“It is?” Gertrude feigned surprise. “One day’s the same as another when you’re my age. Just one step closer to the grave.”
“How close?” Joe asked in an eager voice.
Gertrude sneered at her son-in-law. “Not close enough to suit you, Lunkhead. I’m going into the house to get my meager lunch.”
She revved up the wheelchair and sailed off to the back porch’s ramp.
Joe poked Judith’s upper arm. “I think I’ll wash your car. Talking to your ghastly mother tends to warp my post-Mass Christian goodwill. If you need me, I’ll be hiding in the garage.”
Judith followed Gertrude inside. “It’s only a little after eleven, Mother. Why are you hungry so soon?”
“Why not?” the old lady retorted. “I had to put up with one of your miserable guests just now. She sapped all my feeble strength.”
“Who?” Judith asked as she took off her jacket.
“Some scrawny woman who claimed to be a doctor,” Gertrude replied, stopping her wheelchair by the kitchen table. “I told her to
examine my goiter and she wouldn’t.”
“You don’t have a goiter.”
“So? If she was a doctor, then she should have noticed that. Instead, she yapped about patient piracy.” Gertrude frowned. “Or was it patient privacy or privilege or . . .” She shrugged her sloping shoulders. “For all I know, she was blabbing about a privy like the one up at the family cabin. I stopped listening. I just wanted to read the funny papers in peace. Why would she want to talk my ear off in the first place?”
“Good question,” Judith murmured. “Do you remember anything she told you?”
Gertrude suddenly looked sly. “What’s it worth to you? How about an early lunch? You shortchanged me on breakfast. I only got two pancakes with my egg and sausage.”
Judith managed to hide her exasperation. “Okay. How about ham on rye with a slice of Swiss cheese, a dill pickle, and some celery sticks?”
“Skip the celery,” Gertrude said. “The strings get caught in my dentures. Make that two dill pickles.”
“Fine.” Judith opened the fridge. “Now tell me what Sophie told you about her patients.”
“Sophie? Is that what she’s called?” The old lady looked as if she didn’t think much of the name. “It was about your latest dead body in the backyard.”
“I’ve never had a body in the backyard before,” Judith declared. “A year or so ago there was one in Herself’s garden, though.”
Gertrude shrugged. “Close enough. The so-called Doctor Sophie wanted to know if I’d seen the dead woman alive in the backyard. I didn’t see her at all, dead or alive. Unlike some people,” she went on with an acid glance at her daughter, “I don’t take up with hobbies that have to do with people who’ve been done in. I’ll stick to my jumble puzzles.”
“Is that all she mentioned?” Judith asked, sitting down at the table. “I gather Dr. Sophie said something about patients.”
“My patience is being tried by all your goofy questions,” Gertrude declared. “For a doctor, Sophie was kind of fuddled. In fact, she sort of admitted it.” The old lady shrugged again. “It sounded to me as if she thought maybe she’d given somebody the wrong medicine. Or not enough. Or was it too much?” Gertrude now looked a bit fuddled, too.
“That’s possible,” Judith allowed. “I wonder . . .”
“You do that,” Gertrude said. “You done making my lunch?”
“Yes,” Judith replied. “Are you eating here or in the toolshed?”
Her mother grimaced. “And have Knucklehead show up while I’m eating? No thanks. That’d spoil my appetite. Anyway, he can’t hide in the garage forever. Give me my plate. Then I’m out of here.”
A moment later, Gertrude was gone. Judith remained seated, mulling over Sophie’s remarks. Had Millie been under the doctor’s care? Of course she might have been when the Schmucks still lived in California. And why had Rodney bothered with the ruse that he and Millie were still L.A. residents? It made no sense. Developers from all over the country were involved with projects in the city’s nonstop construction.
Judith’s musings were interrupted by a ringing phone.
“Where’s Joe?” Renie demanded. “Bill wants to talk to him, but your husband’s not picking up his cell.”
“He doesn’t take it to church,” Judith replied. “He had to when he was still working for the city and it bothered him when it rang during Mass. It bothered everybody else, too.”
“I didn’t ask for an explanation,” Renie said irritably. “The question was where’s—”
“Joe’s washing the car,” Judith interrupted. “Can Bill wait until Joe comes inside?”
“You know Bill doesn’t like to wait,” Renie retorted. “Don’t you remember how he didn’t come out on the altar at our wedding until I reached the end of the aisle?”
“Actually I don’t recall that,” Judith said, trying to remain reasonable. “In fact, you’re exaggerating. As your maid of honor, I was at the altar and Bill was there. But I did see him looking at his watch and shaking it a couple of times to make sure it worked. Why is Bill in such a tizzy to talk to Joe?”
Renie’s heavy sigh carried over the line. “As you may have guessed, when we were at your house for dinner Friday, the husbands decided they should go on another exotic fishing trip. I got some stuff off the Internet for them last night, so Bill wants to confer with Joe.”
“Oh, good grief!” Judith cried. “‘Exotic’ translates as ‘expensive.’ How are we—and you guys—supposed to afford another big trip like that?”
“It wasn’t all that expensive,” Renie said, now sounding less fractious. “They wheeled and dealed to get a good price, remember?”
Judith wasn’t giving in. “It still strained the budget.”
“What budget? We’ve never had one. Bill and I are weak at math.”
“Oh . . . Never mind. If Joe goes over to talk to Bill, do you want to come here? I need some help trying to figure out my current so-called guests. I’ve also learned some things you should know.”
“Do I want to know them?”
“Yes. I firmly believe you should be as confused as I am.”
“Well . . . Okay, I suppose that’s only fair. Let’s see what the husbands end up doing this afternoon.”
Judith agreed and rang off. Ten minutes later, Joe came into the house. “You realize,” he said, washing his hands in the kitchen sink, “that we have to buy a new car one of these days. The Subaru’s twenty years old. Even a make as reliable as that one can’t run forever.”
“Eighteen,” Judith countered. “And it runs fine. It’s your fancy sports car that’s costing us repair money now.”
“That’s different,” Joe asserted. “It’s a classic.”
Judith shrugged. “Then maybe we can’t afford you going with Bill on another big fishing trip to Peru or Thailand or Timbuktu.”
“We’ve made no serious plans,” Joe said, his round face innocent. “We might just go up to British Columbia or maybe Alaska. Those trips are comparatively cheap. By the way, I saw Agnes walk up the drive a few minutes ago, so she didn’t get lost.”
“You’re trying to divert me.” But Judith frowned. “I didn’t hear her come in the front way. In fact, everything’s quiet around here.”
“Be thankful,” Joe said, opening the fridge. “You fuss too much in general. Let Woody handle this case. He’s an actual cop. Hey, where’s the sandwich ham?”
“I gave Mother the last of it,” Judith replied. “There’s bologna and roast beef. You won’t starve.”
“But I had a yen for ham,” Joe muttered. “Damn.”
The phone rang again. Judith assumed it was Renie. “What now?” she asked after putting the receiver to her ear.
“That’s my question,” said a female voice that didn’t belong to Renie. “In case you’ve forgotten I exist, this is Mavis Lean-Brodie from KINE-TV. You owe me.”
“I do?” Judith gasped. “How can that be?”
“Because I saved you from a bunch of obnoxious media people yesterday,” Mavis said in the voice that was well known as the longtime news anchor on the city’s leading TV station. “As you’re aware, I only go on air Monday through Friday. I want an exclusive this coming week on your latest murderous mayhem. I spent part of yesterday helping the cops shoo away some of my competitors from the cul-de-sac. I have friends in high places, kiddo. You and I go way back. I met Woody Price at the same time you did when the fortune-teller got herself murdered at your place.”
“Yes.” Judith saw Joe staring at her. “Of course, Mavis,” she went on for her husband’s enlightenment, “you’re a local TV institution.”
“Hunh. Some people think I should be in an institution by now,” she declared. “Especially those eager, nubile young women who lurk around the station fondling their communications degrees. But enough of that. I want you to dish. How about meeting me for coffee up on top of the hill at Moonbeam’s in half an hour?”
“I could do that,” Judith replied. “Um . . . wou
ld you mind if my cousin joined us? She was coming over to see me this afternoon. You may remember Serena—or Renie, as she’s known in the family.”
“The one with the big mouth and the bigger teeth? Yes, I remember her. How could I forget?” Mavis said, sounding as if she’d like to do just that. “Oh, why not? You two seem to work as a team. Make it one o’clock. But don’t let your cousin try to cadge lunch off of me because she figures I can put it on my expense account. See you soon.” Mavis disconnected.
Renie, however, balked. “You know I almost never watch TV news unless you’re on it,” she said. “It’s stupid, a bunch of people in heavy makeup—especially Mavis, now that she’s older—reading the news off of a teleprompter and changing facial expressions frequently. They use so many filters for her close-ups that she’s kind of a blur.”
Judith didn’t feel like begging. “So you won’t join us at Moonbeam’s? I hear they have some new pastries.”
“What kind?” Renie sounded suspicious.
“I don’t know,” Judith admitted, “but someone at the drugstore said they were killer.”
“Just your style,” her cousin murmured. “Maybe I’d better come along after all.”
Chapter 10
Judith’s curiosity about what had become of Agnes Crump sent her to the front door. She looked outside to see her guest chatting with Arlene.
“Judith!” her neighbor called out. “Agnes has been telling me all about her years in the convent! Most intriguing—except for the nuns. I still have nightmares about them from my schooling at St. Radegunda’s. Did I ever tell you about their cure for bed-wetting?”
“Uh . . . no,” Judith replied, trying not to stare at a dazed-looking Agnes. “I mean, you did, a long time ago, but I—”
“Which,” Arlene went on, “is how Agnes saved a man from the gallows.” She took the other woman’s hand and beamed at her. “How brave you were, my dear!”
Agnes apparently discovered that she still had vocal cords. “It wasn’t as dire as the gallows. It was only a six-month prison term. A case of mistaken identity. I was a legal secretary for several years before I got arthritis in my hands and had to quit. But while I was still able to work, I recall when I typed up the information about the defendant—”