by Mary Daheim
“Yes, of course,” Arlene interrupted, patting Agnes’s arm. “But it was so clever of you to notice Mr. Wicked’s error. Not everyone would have caught that.”
“Wicks, Mr. Wicks,” Agnes said softly. “It wasn’t so much his—”
“Whatever.” Arlene tossed her short honey-colored curls. “But it would’ve been wicked for an innocent man to be sent to jail for something he didn’t do.”
“Yes,” Agnes murmured. “So wrong.” Her blue eyes looked misty.
Arlene gave the other woman one last pat. “You take care. I didn’t realize you were at Mass. If I’d known, Carl and I would’ve driven you back here.” She shot Judith a reproachful glance.
But Agnes came to her innkeeper’s defense. “I left after the final blessing. I was afraid it might start raining again. I’m not used to wet weather.”
“We have no other kind,” Arlene declared. “You wouldn’t want to live here. Please tell everyone you know back home about all the nasty rain we have and how miserable they’d be if they moved to the area. Have a nice day.” She walked quickly around the hedge and disappeared.
“What a nice lady,” Agnes murmured as she and Judith headed toward the front porch. “You’re lucky to have good neighbors.”
“We are,” Judith assured her. “They’ve been next door since I was in my twenties. By the way, Rodney told me that he and Millie had moved back here not long ago. Why did they leave L.A.?”
“Oh . . .” Agnes’s gaze roamed up to the entry-hall ceiling. “Millie had never lived here, but . . . I guess they both thought a change would be good for them.” She didn’t look at Judith, but lowered her eyes to study the Persian carpet.
“I understand Rodney was born here,” Judith said, despite her reluctance to bring up the touchy subject of who had been his mother.
The blue gaze briefly met Judith’s dark eyes. “He was. I know that’s true. Excuse me, Mrs. Flynn,” Agnes said, speaking more rapidly than usual. “I should lie down for a bit. After Mass, I rest and contemplate.”
“Of course.” Judith headed for the kitchen.
Joe was eating his lunch. “I’m going over to see Bill in a bit. You got any plans?”
“Yes,” Judith said. “I’m meeting Mavis Lean-Brodie and Renie for coffee at Moonbeam’s.”
“Oh,” Joe said, looking faintly chagrined. “I forgot to mention that Woody told me Mavis was outside the cul-de-sac yesterday shooing away the media competition. Why don’t you drop me off at the Joneses’ house? I can go on Bill’s walk with him later and get some exercise.”
“Good idea,” Judith said. “Maybe I’ll get something to eat at Moonbeam’s. I still feel full from breakfast.”
“You’re not fussing about your weight again, are you?”
Judith put a hand to her abdomen. “I always gain a few pounds after Easter. I’ve lost some already, but I have two, three more to go.”
“You’re tall and fairly big-boned, so it never shows.” Joe grinned. “Not even when you take your clothes off. You’re too damned sensitive about your weight.”
Judith carefully leaned down to kiss her husband’s increasingly higher forehead. “You’re really kind of sweet,” she said.
“Don’t tell anybody,” Joe murmured. “It’d ruin my private-eye reputation. Oh!” The green eyes—magic eyes, Judith called them—lit up. “I forgot. While we were at church, I got a call on my cell for an assignment starting tomorrow. Missing person case. It should be easy. With your penchant for crime, the guy will probably show up here.”
Judith finally sat down. “Who is he?”
“A city employee,” Joe replied after swallowing the last of his sandwich. “I’ve got his name upstairs. He’s only been gone a couple of days, but his wife is worried. She insists her husband’s not the type to go off on his own. I’ve heard that line before. Have we got any pie left?”
“Only one slice of the boysenberry,” Judith said. “Go ahead. I don’t need it. I’m watching my weight, remember?”
“Do I hear something snide in your tone?” Joe inquired, one hand going to his slight paunch.
“I rarely nag,” Judith said primly. “I would, however, suggest that if your stomach gets too big, it might bother your precious back.”
“Touché,” Joe murmured. And got up to fetch the pie from the refrigerator.
At exactly one o’clock, Judith was the first to arrive at Moonbeam’s. The coffee shop was busy as usual, but she found a table that would seat three. Recognizing two couples from church, she smiled and nodded. Just as she was checking out the numerous varieties of coffee specialties, Mavis walked briskly through the door. At least a dozen heads swiveled to stare.
“I hate being a so-called celebrity,” she muttered, glaring at a bald man at the next table who was virtually ogling her. “I’m a journalist, damn it. And unlike a lot of TV talking heads, I still chase news.”
“I know that,” Judith said, smiling again. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
“Right.” Mavis slipped out of her chic jacket. “Where’s your bratty cousin?”
“Renie will be along eventually,” Judith said. “Shall we wait for her or go get our orders now?”
“We order,” Mavis asserted with a flip of her blond pageboy. “She can fend for herself. I know what I want—an espresso macchiato and some Greek yogurt.”
The line was surprisingly short. Judith ordered a skinny latte and a ham-and-Swiss panini. As they took their items back to the table, Renie half stumbled inside. Apparently she was having trouble with the swinging door, which seemed to have declared war on her. Or, Judith mused, maybe she was cussing just for the heck of it. Acknowledging her cousin and Mavis, Renie barged past two stout older ladies and got ahead of them in line.
“She hasn’t changed,” Mavis remarked ruefully.
“She never does,” Judith said. “But she’s basically . . . decent. What do you want to know about my latest dead body?”
“How she got that way,” Mavis answered. “Camilla Schmuck, correct? First, has her death been ruled a homicide or do the cops just figure it must be since it happened at your place?”
As much as Judith liked and respected Mavis, she was loath to tell her too much about the current B&B guests. “They came in a group to hold a wedding, all having known each other when they lived in the L.A. area. Yesterday morning Millie was found dead in the backyard. An autopsy was requested. For all I know, she died of natural causes.”
Mavis smirked. “But you think otherwise.”
“I’m not sure I do,” Judith replied. “It is possible.”
“Not with you,” Renie stated, plopping down in the empty chair. “Hi, Mavis. What’s that gruesome goop you’re eating?”
“I call it lunch,” Mavis snapped, staring at Renie’s hefty chicken BLT sandwich. “It’s not as grandiose as yours, of course.”
“This isn’t lunch,” Renie replied. “I ate that at noon. This is snack.”
“Egad,” Mavis said under her breath. “You really are Petunia Pig. How come you’re not fat?”
Renie, who had taken a big bite of sandwich, merely shrugged.
“Metabolism,” Judith declared. “Some pigs got it, some pigs don’t.”
Mavis merely arched her pristinely plucked eyebrows. “As you were saying about your latest corpse . . . Did the wedding come off, by the way?”
Judith shook her head. “Millie was the bride’s mother. They had to postpone it. Really, I don’t see much news value since we don’t know how or why she died.”
“I like to be prepared,” Mavis said. “Knowing you . . .”
“Stop.” Judith had held up a hand. “Look, if it turns out not to be a natural death, I promise I’ll let you know. But we may not find out until later this week. You know how long an autopsy can take. We’ve got too many people living—and dying—here these days.”
“But,” Mavis said, “most of them don’t do it in your backyard.”
The remain
der of the get-together turned to other topics, mainly about other story lines that the KINE-TV crew was developing for future broadcasts. Shortly before two, Mavis announced that she had to change and head for a cocktail party at the mayor’s residence. Renie decided she might as well go back to Hillside Manor, since the husbands were no doubt still planning fishing trips that could wreak havoc with their respective family incomes.
When they reached the B&B, Renie looked up at the clouds that had rolled in while they were at Moonbeam’s. “If Bill and Joe are going to walk later on,” she said, “they’d better both wear hooded jackets. Otherwise, they might get wet and shrink.”
Judith glanced at her cousin as they went in through the back door. “Are you implying they don’t know enough to keep from getting rained on? Joe’s a native and Bill’s lived here forever.”
“I’m saying men don’t always think,” Renie replied. “Take Rodney Schmuck, for example. What’s his point in insisting that you’re his mother? It makes no sense.”
Judith sat down at the kitchen table. “I’ve no idea,” she said. “The only thing I can think of is that his mother really was named Judith Grover. Maybe she abandoned him at birth or gave him up for adoption. I don’t even know where he was born, though he claims to have proof that I’m the one who gave birth to him.”
“You’d probably remember it if you had,” Renie said with a straight face. “Heck, I’d remember it. I’d have come to see you in the hospital. How come you haven’t found Rodney’s so-called proof during your searches of their guest room?”
“Good point,” Judith conceded. “The only thing I can think of is that he’s got it on him. Maybe in his wallet. You can get birth certificates shrunken down to that size and laminated for international travel purposes. I should’ve frisked him after he passed out yesterday.”
Renie, who had sat down across from Judith, frowned. “Where are all the goofballs? It’s really quiet around here.”
“I don’t know,” Judith admitted. “With all the high-tech stuff, they could be watching movies on their phones. Maybe they rented a car. Or a van. Or a damned bus.” She covered her eyes with her hands. “I just wish they’d never come here. They’re a really annoying bunch of people. Except maybe Agnes Crump. She’s merely kind of pitiful.”
Renie was looking unwontedly serious. “I really think you should have Bill check out Rodney. He doesn’t sound as if he’s got it together.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Judith said. “His wife just died. Or do you mean the mama bit? And would Bill be willing to talk to him?”
“Probably not,” Renie replied. “He doesn’t like to work for free. In fact, Bill doesn’t like to work. Since he officially retired from his psychology practice, he takes only very special cases, such as those who have not only mental and emotional problems, but enormous bankrolls.”
Judith’s face was wry. “He’s all about the compassion, isn’t he?”
“Skip the sarcasm. At least Bill is honest about his motives. Speaking of which, just in case Millie was whacked, have you figured out why anybody would want her dead?”
“No,” Judith said. “I’m waiting for Joe to hear from Woody about background and such. Then there’s the problem of these people sticking around inside. Unlike the usual guests, they seem to have absolutely no interest in seeing the local sights. But you’d think they might have personal errands to run while they’re here. Somehow I don’t see them as the type who’d use public transit.” She leaned back in the chair. “That’s what bothers me most. There’s nothing typical about these people. Yes, they came for a wedding, but it got called off. They’re stuck here—at least Rodney is—until the autopsy is finished. I can’t put them up after tonight because I’ve got guests coming in Monday evening. They’ll . . .” She shut up as Stuart Wicks came through the back hall and into the kitchen.
He didn’t bother with a preamble to his news. “I finally heard back from a minion who works for your police captain. Price prefers that we remain in the city. I am outraged,” he concluded without inflection or expression.
Renie looked up at him. “How can we tell? Finger puppets might work. Or turning blue.” She stood up. “I need Pepsi.”
Judith felt obligated to speak. “Can you ask for a postponement?”
Stuart arched one dark eyebrow. “On a Sunday?”
“Oh.” Judith’s smile was feeble. “No, I suppose not. Could you delegate to someone in your office or do you practice alone?”
“I’m one of the senior partners in a large firm,” Stuart replied with dignity. “We have over sixty attorneys just in our main office in Century City and three other offices in L.A. County.”
“That’s very impressive,” Judith said, noticing that Renie had wandered back down the hall and was going outside. “I don’t think Cynthia told me if your court appearance is for a criminal or a civil case.”
“It’s a civil matter.” Stuart frowned. “That is, it’s actually a hearing to prevent criminal charges being brought against my client.” He sat down in Renie’s vacant chair. “I’m rather shrewd at reading people’s faces. You have a very sympathetic countenance, Mrs. Flynn. What do you make of the events that have transpired here since we arrived?”
“Tragic,” Judith responded. “Puzzling, since Millie seemed in good health. You must know Dr. Kilmore. I assume she’d have some inkling if Millie had any serious health problems.”
“I don’t really know Sophie,” Stuart said. “She’s been friends with the Schmucks for some time. Bear in mind, I’m merely Clark’s stepfather. I don’t really know him all that well. Cynthia and I have only been married for three years.”
“Did you know his father? That is, Cynthia’s first husband?”
“No. They’d been divorced for . . .” Stuart’s long, sallow face grew thoughtful. “I think about six or seven years. I believe he moved from L.A. after the decree was final. Cynthia lost track of him. A good loss, from her point of view. Unhappy marriages are only good for lawyers who handle the more contentious breakups. This is my first foray into matrimony. Cynthia and I have a most blissful union.”
Judith tried to imagine the rigid Stuart Wicks succumbing to bliss. She couldn’t. Nor did Cynthia seem like the type who would surrender to unbridled passion. Of course, Judith reminded herself, you never really know about people . . .
“. . . her own profession,” Stuart was saying. “Don’t you agree?”
“Well, yes, in general,” Judith replied, not having heard the first part of whatever Stuart had been droning on about. In fact, she wondered how a judge or a jury could stay awake during his presentations. “How long has Cynthia held that job title?” she asked, hoping the question would enlighten her about whatever it was that Mrs. Wicks did for a living.
Stuart pondered briefly. “Six years? After divorcing Clark’s father, she went back to school and earned her master’s degree in family counseling at UCLA.”
“That was smart of her,” Judith said. “Her work must often be rewarding. Helping others, that is.”
“Indeed,” Stuart concurred, “though it is fraught with difficulties and sometimes even danger. The term ‘family counseling’ may sound benign, but I assure you that her job also has its hazards. Some of her clients are virtually deranged.”
Judith saw Renie coming back into the kitchen. “Deranged?” Renie asked. “Hey, coz, how about your zany mother wrestling with Sweetums to stop him from destroying the stuffed donkey she got years ago as Democratic precinct committee woman? I stopped her just in time before she strangled the wretched beast. Sweetums must be a Republicat.”
“Ah . . .” Judith began, “I don’t think you’ve officially met Stuart Wicks.”
“Probably not,” Renie said in an indifferent tone as she tossed her empty Pepsi can in the garbage can under the sink. “I’ve never met Sidney Wicks either, though I watched him play basketball for UCLA and later in the NBA.” She gazed disparagingly at Stuart. “You’re barely six feet.
You’d never make the team. If you could run, maybe you could get a job as a referee. That’s what our Uncle Al did after his playing days were over.”
Stuart took umbrage, his sallow face taking on a hint of color. “You are out of order! Have you no manners?”
Renie looked all around herself. “Gosh, I guess I left them in the toolshed. Maybe Aunt Gert will find them. She lost her manners seventy years ago. Does anybody here except me know how to spell ‘pompous’?”
“Coz,” Judith said in a beleaguered voice, “could you please not act like you came onstage in the middle of a really bad play? Stuart and I were trying to have a conversation.”
Judith’s guest got to his feet. “I believe that’s my exit line. If,” he went on, glaring at Renie, “we were in court, I’d cite you for contempt.”
Renie merely stared unblinkingly at Stuart until he stopped glaring and left the kitchen.
“You,” Judith said in her most severe voice, “can be a real twit sometimes. No matter what you may think about this current bunch of guests, can’t you at least be civil?”
Renie let out a big sigh and looked pained. “I don’t suffer fools gladly. Alas, you often do because you’re so damned softhearted. Yes, I know these people are paying customers, but they’re taking advantage of your good nature. I’ve spent my whole life watching out for you, but I can’t always be around. When I am, I tend to be overly protective.”
Judith’s face softened. “I know. I appreciate it. But sometimes it’s embarrassing.”
“You’re too darned sensitive,” Renie said, though her tone was benevolent. “Anything new from Woody?”
“If there is,” Judith replied, “Bill will find out before we do. Joe thought Woody might call him this afternoon. Of course it is a Sunday.”
“Right,” Renie agreed. “Even a police chief shouldn’t have to work on the weekend unless the whole city is under siege. Other municipal employees don’t work weekends.”