by Mary Daheim
Joe grinned. “So he came to spy on you—or your zany guests?”
“The latter, I assume. For all I know, he may’ve been spying on them from the time they got here. Maybe he’s a PI. Hey, you might’ve run into him at some point.”
“Only if he’s another retired cop,” Joe said. “We PIs try to keep out of each other’s way. I’ll go check to see if the coals are hot.”
Judith set out the appetizers in the living room. She had returned to the kitchen when the phone rang. To her surprise, the caller was Jack Hardy, the longtime funeral director from across the ship canal who had handled most of the Grover family’s burials over the past half century.
“Jack!” Judith said in surprise. “I thought you’d retired.”
“I did,” he replied in his usual cheerful voice. “But once in a while my sons need Dad to give them a hand. We had three funerals over the weekend and already two more for this coming week. So many of these folks have moved here from other places—but you know that. If you read the obits, ninety-five percent of them were born somewhere else.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Judith said wryly. “In the past five years, I’ve heard from at least two dozen guests who visited here, liked it so much that they pulled up stakes and moved to our now bulging city.”
Jack chuckled. “It’s good for business, though. At least my business. But that’s not why I’m calling. One of my sons had a funeral out north today at Land of Eternal Repose. Afterward, when Jeff was in the cemetery office, the guy behind the desk asked if any of the funeral party had lost a wallet. Jeff had no idea, but he took a look, didn’t recognize the name, but noticed whoever it was had one of your B&B cards in it. Does Clark Stone ring any bells with you?”
“It does,” Judith replied. “He’s a guest who thought he’d lost his wallet while shopping up on top of the hill. He’s here now, so I’ll tell him to pick it up. Will you be around for a while?”
Jack chuckled again. “I’m not around now. Our office is closed. I’m at home. Say, my other son, Jake, has a meeting tomorrow up on the hill near Holliday’s Drug Store. He can drop it off there. You know the Hollidays, right?”
“Sure. I’ll let Clark know. He may be checking out tomorrow.” Or so Judith hoped. She thanked Jack and rang off.
Shortly after six, the guests straggled down in twos and threes. According to Joe, the spareribs weren’t done and his gruesome mother-in-law was pitching a fit in the backyard. Judith poured a half inch of Scotch into what was left of her melted ice, took a big swig, and headed for the living room. All of the Schmuck party had gathered except Rodney. Joe and Carl had finally managed to get him upstairs after they’d finished their first Molson’s.
Clark and Belle were seated at the baby grand piano, picking out some discordant chords. The rest of the party was engaged in desultory conversation and not necessarily with each other. The Reverend Kindred appeared to be delivering a sermon to the grandfather clock.
Judith smiled a greeting as she ran the gauntlet of guests to reach the far end of the long living room. She had to tap Clark’s shoulder to get his attention.
“You wallet’s been found,” she said, hoping to sound amiable. “It was at the cemetery north of the city, but it’s been dropped off at Holliday’s Drug Store on top of the hill.”
“Oh.” Clark looked puzzled. “What cemetery?”
“The one just north of the city,” Judith replied.
“I thought that was a golf course.” Clark looked at Belle. “Did we go to a cemetery since we got here?”
“I don’t think so,” Belle replied. “But then I nodded off some of the time we were driving around checking out . . . the scenery.”
“Never mind that,” Judith said. “You can get your wallet back tomorrow.”
Clark wasn’t perturbed. “That’s okay. I don’t need it now anyway. Sophie’s picking up the tab tonight when we go out to dinner. Hey, Belle, what were those last chords you played? Was it the theme music from Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle?”
Judith didn’t want to know. She made her way back to the kitchen without any of the guests bothering to speak to her. That suited her just fine. But she felt gloomy, not being able to remember a time when she felt so distanced from her visitors. Except maybe Rodney. Even if she wasn’t his mother, she realized she was taking a maternal interest in the poor drunken sot. She took another swig of Scotch.
Judith and Joe were still outside at seven o’clock, not having eaten dinner until six thirty. Gertrude had slammed the door on her toolshed apartment after stating that if the Flynns were trying to starve her to death, she was going to report them to CPS.
“Doesn’t the old bat know that CPS is for children?” Joe asked.
“Maybe she thinks she can report her daughter and son-in-law to them for abusing her. You know Mother likes to tease us.”
“Tease us?” Joe’s green eyes sparked. “How about torture us?”
“She finally consented to eat dinner,” Judith pointed out.
“But not with us,” Joe reminded his wife. “She took it inside her so-called ramshackle dwelling.”
“You know that was her choice after we got married. Mother refused to live under the same roof with you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Joe muttered.
The phone rang before Judith could defend either her mother—or Joe. Judith picked up the receiver and heard Renie’s voice.
“Hey, coz,” she began, “I forgot to ask if Rodney ever produced the birth certificate or whatever proof he has that you’re his mother. I assume you never found it while you were pillaging Room One.”
“No,” Judith replied. “For all I know, he had whatever the document is inscribed on the head of a pin. I don’t think what I found burned in the barbecue was it, though. That looked like the remains of ordinary typing paper.”
“Nothing ordinary about Rodney,” Renie remarked. “Did he and the rest of the gang ever come back from wherever they went?”
“Unfortunately, they did.” Judith proceeded to relate the afternoon’s adventures at the B&B while Joe dozed in the lawn chair.
“Gosh,” Renie said in mock surprise, “was that as much fun for you as it was for them?”
“Don’t ask,” Judith replied. “They seem subdued tonight. They’ve been that way all day. Maybe they really are mourning Millie.”
“It is possible that they were fond of her. Or do you think they’re merely hangers-on?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Judith admitted. “But now that you brought it up, I’ll ask Rodney about his proof that I’m his mother. If he ever sobers up enough to know what I’m talking about.”
“Do you think he’s really drunk?”
Judith started to say yes, but paused. “That’s an interesting question. Are you suggesting he could be doing drugs?”
“Well . . . no. But someone could’ve drugged him.”
“That’s true,” Judith said in a thoughtful tone. “An empty liquor bottle doesn’t mean he drank it. I wonder . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Keep speculating. I have to watch Lonesome Dove with Bill for the fourteenth time. It’s a good thing I enjoy it as much as he does.” Renie hung up.
The guests left for dinner shortly after six. Judith hoped they’d stay away for hours. But she wondered if Rodney had gone with them. A little after eight, she went upstairs and rapped on Room One’s door. There was no response. She tried the knob. It turned easily in her grasp. The room was still light enough so that Judith could see the bed was empty. Apparently Rodney had recovered sufficiently to join the others for dinner. Relieved that he wasn’t still in an alcoholic stupor, she went back downstairs to join Joe in the living room.
“Well?” her husband said, looking up from an espionage novel he’d been reading. “Any sign of chaos upstairs?”
“No,” Judith replied, sitting down on the sofa next to Joe. “I will say this for the current guests—they’re fairly tidy.”
> Joe gave a slight shrug. “Good for them. You want to watch TV?”
“Not really. I’d rather just sit here next to you and be quiet.”
Joe put his arm around her. “Go for it. You’ve been under a strain. Any way we can take a break for a few days and maybe go up to Canada or down to the ocean?”
“I’d have to get Arlene and Carl to sub for us, but about now it sounds like a wonderful idea.” She snuggled closer. “In fact, just sitting here with you is kind of wonderful.”
“Kick back. The last few days have been rough.”
Judith nodded. In fact, she felt as if she could nod off. And did. When she woke up, it was almost ten. Joe apparently hadn’t moved, but he’d finished his book. “I hate it when the good spy turns out to be a bad spy who is a double agent and the villain is a robot. Dumb book. Why don’t we go to bed?”
“That’s a good idea,” Judith said—and smiled.
The Flynns were both asleep by eleven o’clock. They never heard the guests come back. Tuesday morning brought a light drizzle, the kind that wouldn’t last long, but might return later in the day.
Judith felt refreshed as she and Joe prepared breakfast. When eight o’clock rolled around, no one had yet appeared at the dining room table. As the schoolhouse clock ticked to eight thirty, she remarked that the guests must have made a late night of it. By the time it was going on nine, Phyliss Rackley had arrived. After a litany of her latest bodily aches and pains—and praise to the Lord that she could still stand up on her own two feet despite fallen arches—she started upstairs.
“The guests haven’t yet come down,” Judith called after her. “Why don’t you do the laundry first?”
“You know I have my routine,” Phyliss declared. “I’ll tidy up the guest bathrooms. If they want to use them, they can ask. The Good Lord gave them voices, didn’t he?” She clumped off down the hall.
Judith’s good mood was going bad. “The food will be inedible by the time they finally get down here,” she griped. “Are they all hungover?”
“Maybe not the rev,” Joe said. “Why do you care? You don’t seem overly fond of them.”
Before Judith could reply, Phyliss came back into the hall. “Now, don’t go calling me snoopy,” she said with a wag of her bony finger. “But the door to Room Six was ajar. I figured nobody was in there, so I had me a peek. I was right. Empty as the tomb on Easter Sunday. I went through the bathroom to take a peek into Room Five. Empty, too. In fact, all the rooms are empty. Maybe Satan took them in their sleep. Except the minister, of course.”
Judith didn’t think that was the case. In fact, she didn’t want to think about what had happened to her missing guests.
But she knew she had to do something. The guests weren’t mere guests—but suspects.
Chapter 17
At least,” Joe said, trying to console his irate wife, “they didn’t stiff you for the bill, right?”
“That’s not the point!” Judith yipped. “They’re a bunch of crooks, they’re up to something, they’re running away!”
“What,” Phyliss demanded, “do you expect of godless people? They probably did in the poor minister.”
Judith shot her cleaning woman a baleful glance. “Hardly. He’s as big a criminal as the rest of them. He’s a phony.”
Phyliss’s face sagged. “That’s a terrible thing to say about a man of the cloth! I talked to him. He’s a sincere Christian preacher who knows his Bible.” She flounced off in a fit of high dudgeon.
“Face it,” Joe said, still sounding reasonable. “You should be glad they left. You’re only upset because you can’t grill them to find out who poisoned Millie. If anyone actually did, of course.”
Judith stared at her husband. “You think she poisoned herself?”
“No, not really, but it could’ve been an accident.”
“I don’t encounter accidents, I encounter murder,” Judith declared. “You’re a cop. You should know the difference.”
“I may be a retired cop,” Joe said, still calm despite the warning look in his green eyes, “but I’ve always needed evidence before I consider foul play. Woody’s hedging his bets, too. Be reasonable.”
“I need to talk to Renie,” Judith muttered.
“You can’t. She’s still unconscious.”
Judith acknowledged Joe’s statement with a faint nod. It wasn’t her style to get so upset. There was something about the Schmuck bunch that was—as Renie had put it—unreal. That gave her food for thought. But after mulling while cleaning up from the uneaten guest breakfast, she dismissed the long weekend from her mind. She was never one to dwell on life’s more unpleasant aspects.
You idiot!” Renie yelled over the phone two hours later. “Don’t tell me you don’t give a hoot about Rodney and his not-so-merry band of loony hangers-on! Have you lost your mind?”
“Of course not,” Judith replied indignantly. “What’s the point? They’re gone. I’m done.”
Renie was uncustomarily silent for a moment or two. “Okay. You want to have lunch someplace? I skimped on breakfast. I overslept and didn’t get up until ten thirty.”
“I’m waiting to hear back from Ingrid Heffelman,” Judith said. “I had her move the four reservations for tonight to other B&Bs. She’s supposed to tell me if she has anybody who might want to stay here.”
“So I’m supposed to pass out from malnutrition because of Ms. Heffalump?” Renie grumbled. “She can call on your cell. I’ll meet you at Heraldsgate Café in fifteen minutes. Wait. I just realized I’m not dressed. Make that twenty-five. Maybe I’m not really awake yet. I’d better look in the mirror to see if my eyes are open. But if they’re still closed, how can I tell?”
“Try pinching yourself. And avoid driving in your sleep.” Judith rang off.
A little after eleven thirty, Judith noticed that it was drizzling again. Sweetums came through the cat door and meandered down the hall, looking miffed. Apparently Gertrude had not granted him admission to the toolshed. Checking to make sure his dish in the pantry had food and the bowl had water, she headed outside.
The Subaru wasn’t in the garage. Irked, she went back inside, where Phyliss had just come up from the basement. “Do you know if Joe left?” Judith asked.
“About half an hour ago,” Phyliss replied. “He couldn’t find you, so he told me to tell you he had to investigate some evildoers. Oh, he said you’d better fix lunch for your mother because she’s on the warpath.”
“About what?”
Phyliss shrugged. “How would I know? Isn’t your mother always on the warpath? If you ask me, she’s a troubled soul. I’ve tried to save her, but she resists hearing the Word. She just waves those beads of hers at me and says to get lost. Doesn’t she know I’ve been found?”
Judith didn’t attempt to defend her mother. That was a lost cause not unlike Phyliss’s appraisal of her mother’s soul. Instead, she called Renie. “I have no car,” she told her cousin. “Joe took it. He has to work. Do you want to pick me up or shall we eat here?”
“Ohhhh . . .” Renie’s sigh was audible. “Jeez, I’m practically passing out from hunger. Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Meet me out front.”
“Don’t rush,” Judith said. “I have to make lunch for Mother.”
“In that case, make it for me, too. Forget about the café. I can’t wait that long.” Renie slammed down the phone.
Judith took off her jacket. She was making an egg salad sandwich for Gertrude when the phone rang.
“Some rich people,” Mavis Lean-Brodie began, “are starstruck. Or at least they like to get chummy with so-called media celebrities. Mrs. Burnside-Smythe, she of Sunset Cliffs, called minutes ago to tell me that Mrs. Worthman told her she’d seen two carloads of people drive through Heaven’s Gate. How’s that for breaking news?”
“You mean they went over a cliff?” Judith asked in a shocked voice.
“No, no,” Mavis responded sharply. “That’s what the Schmucks call their house.”
“Oh! Well, that solves the puzzle here. They checked out without giving me notice. They’re a little short in the consideration department.”
“You mean you got stiffed?”
“No, I have Rodney’s credit-card number,” Judith said. “Thanks for letting me know, Mavis. Have you put your story together yet?”
“Are you kidding?” Mavis shot back. “I’m not sure there is a story. Your old pal Woody Price isn’t calling Millie Schmuck’s death a homicide yet. Or do you know something I don’t?”
“I don’t,” Judith replied. “You’re the one with the latest news on the Schmucks. Maybe they got the mansion’s saloon furnished. Those people should call it the saloony.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Mavis said. “I won’t interview them until it’s murder.” She hung up.
Renie showed up right after Judith returned from taking lunch out to Gertrude. “Is my sweatshirt on backward?” she asked Judith. “I got dressed in a hurry.”
“It’s blank,” Judith replied. “Both sides.”
“Oh. Then it doesn’t matter. I thought it said ‘Something Stupid.’”
Judith frowned at her cousin, “Like what?”
“I’ve got three purple sweatshirts,” Renie responded. “This one’s blank, another one has the University’s logo on it, and the one the kids gave me for Mother’s Day says ‘Something Stupid.’ When they asked me what I wanted, I told all three of them I needed new sweatshirts, but not ones that said something stupid.” She shrugged. “Of course that’s what my perverse children had put on the new purple sweatshirt. If Bill and I had any money, we’d disinherit them.”
Judith opened the fridge. “When it comes to being perverse, I don’t think your apples fell too far from the tree. I haven’t made our lunch yet. Ham, egg salad, tuna, or baloney?”
“Ham, with cheese—Havarti, if you have it.” Renie sat down at the table. “So the guests took off?”
Judith related what Mavis had told her. “I assume,” she concluded, “Woody is investigating, but he probably thinks the guests are still here. Maybe I should call him.”