Here Comes the Bribe

by Mary Daheim

  “I told you it might be later in the week,” he responded. “The more people who move to this city, the more deaths we get. Haven’t you noticed how many obits are in the newspaper these days? That means more autopsies.”

  “Not every death requires an autopsy,” Judith pointed out.

  “Right.” Joe turned on the mixer, obviously not interested in discussing postmortem procedures.

  Judith took two pounds of bacon out of the refrigerator. Before she could open the first package, Sweetums scrunched his big, furry body through the cat door and strolled down the hall. “Mother must be up early,” she murmured. “I’ll try to make her breakfast now. Oww!” She glared at the cat, who had just raked her leg with his claws. “You ornery pest! Didn’t Mother feed you this morning?” She started down the hall to check his dish. “Claws!” she exclaimed. “That’s what Clark meant.”

  Joe turned off the mixer. “What?”

  “Some notes Clark had in their room,” Judith explained, moving away from Sweetums, who was poised for a second attack. “It looked like ‘claws,’ but I’ll bet it was clause. Clark may not be a very good speller.”

  Joe turned the mixer back on. Judith shook her head and went to the pantry to get more cat food. Her husband didn’t seem interested in what might be possible clues.

  It wasn’t until she’d taken Gertrude’s breakfast out to the toolshed and the current guests were seated in the dining room that Judith asked Joe why he seemed so grumpy.

  “It’s simple,” Joe said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I love my wife. I tense up when I think she’s putting herself in harm’s way.” The green eyes flashed. “Is that so hard to understand?”

  “No,” Judith mumbled. “But when it happens under our roof, it’s hard for me to avoid wondering how and why.”

  “But we don’t really know what happened,” Joe asserted. “How about this? Until Millie’s death is ruled a homicide, you butt out. Okay?”

  Judith frowned. “Um . . . I suppose I could do that. I’m having lunch with Mavis Lean-Brodie today. She’s been following what . . . happened here as a possible TV news story.”

  Joe’s hands fell away from Judith’s shoulders. “Oh, hell! That means you and the B&B will be broadcast all over the region. Do you really want that kind of publicity? What will Ingrid Heffelman think?”

  “Maybe Ingrid’s too busy running the state B&B association to watch TV.”

  “Ingrid’ll hear about it one way or another,” Joe said, lowering his voice to keep from being overheard by the guests in the dining room. “She’ll be on your case again and you know it.”

  Judith’s temper finally came to the fore. “You want me to interfere with freedom of information?”

  “I want you to use common sense. When you see Mavis today, tell her you don’t want publicity. It’s bad for business. Maybe she can understand that.”

  “I doubt it.” Judith paused. “I can give it a shot, though.”

  “You do that,” Joe said, picking up the bowl of eggs.

  Judith decided to shut up and check on the guests. The current group seemed more congenial than her husband on this cloudy May morning. And at least none of them had been murdered.

  Yet.

  Judith had never been to Chez Fred before. It was a relatively new restaurant on the hill, but had received good reviews. Mavis was already seated when she arrived a couple of minutes after noon.

  “They have a very fine rosé from Provence here,” Mavis said in greeting. “I ordered a bottle. I hope you like it.”

  “I don’t drink wine very often,” Judith admitted. “I serve it to my guests during the social hour, though. I tend to buy whatever’s on sale.”

  Mavis raised her eyebrows, but refrained from sneering. “Really, Judith, I thought you were a woman of some culture.”

  “You and your family stayed at my B&B years ago,” Judith said. “I don’t remember you complaining about what I served.”

  “I was probably too busy complaining about my family,” Mavis replied. “As it turned out, I was justified in one instance.”

  Judith thought back to what had been her first encounter with a dead body. Like the currently deceased Millie, the victim had died on the premises. “Let’s skip the old history,” she said. “What do you know that I don’t about the Schmucks?”

  “Probably not as much as you do,” Mavis admitted. “My spies tell me you were at Sunset Cliffs last night.”

  “Your spies?”

  Mavis nodded. “Gate guards can be bribed for information, if not for access onto the sacred grounds. By the way, I ordered tartines for both of us. Duck confit, Brie, fig preserves. If you don’t like it, you’re out of luck. They only offer three different tartines at lunch, but the chef—Maurice—is in one of his moods and only did duck.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Judith said meekly.

  Picking up the bottle of rosé, Mavis announced that she’d already sampled the wine and it was adequate. “I’ll pour. Move your glass a bit closer. What’s the latest?”

  “Not much, really,” Judith replied. “Rodney and Belle have moved to a downtown hotel. The rest of them seem to be in a holding pattern.”

  “That’s it?” Mavis looked incredulous. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Judith shrugged. “I suppose they’re waiting for Millie’s body to be released. I gather she’ll be buried here, not in L.A.”

  Mavis grew thoughtful as she sipped her wine. “I guess that makes sense. I wonder if some of the Sunset Cliffs residents are buried somewhere on the grounds. They have their own chapel, as you know. Very High Church, very WASP. Of course.” She sipped more rosé.

  “A very handsome chapel,” Judith remarked.

  “What’s with the autopsy report?” Mavis asked. “It’s taking a long time, isn’t it?”

  “Not according to Joe,” Judith said.

  “Can’t he get his old pal Woody to hurry up the process?”

  “My husband isn’t inclined to put pressure on his former partner,” Judith replied. “Really, I don’t know much more than you do. How about your own investigation?”

  The tartines arrived. “I had one of my peons do deep background on the people involved. Unfortunately, nothing much turned up. Those hangers-on are all who and what they say they are. Very discouraging. I’m beginning to wonder why I’m following this story in the first place.”

  Judith nodded vaguely. The duck confit was delicious, but she wouldn’t admit she’d never eaten one before. “I don’t suppose any of your spies mentioned seeing the Schmucks with a large chest.”

  “A couple of the Schmucks have a large chest—or stomach,” Mavis said. “Why do you ask?”

  “I mean a big box type of chest,” Judith clarified. “They were seen carrying it out of the house and putting it in a car before they all drove off somewhere in the woods.”

  Mavis narrowed her eyes. “Hmm. That’s rather intriguing. But those guards wouldn’t have seen that happen. I wonder . . .” She looked beyond Judith out toward the Avenue.

  “Yes?” Judith coaxed.

  “If someone could search the grounds . . .” Mavis began. “Say, I heard they hired some gardeners. I wonder if they could be bribed? The guards would know the name of the firm that sent them.”

  Judith grimaced. “It was Carl and Arlene Rankers—my neighbors. You may remember them.”

  Mavis laughed. “I do. I liked them. They have a lot of moxie. Well? Can they get back inside?”

  “That’s the problem,” Judith confessed. “They can’t get outside. It seems they’re being held against their will. Or not,” she added, suddenly feeling very Arlene-like. “I mean, I was worried about them, but they seem rather . . . complacent about the whole situation. I suspect it’s quite an adventure for them, really. Arlene, especially, has boundless curiosity.”

  “Interesting,” Mavis mused. “And yet Joe won’t ask Woody to help?”

  “No. In fact . . .” Judith sighed. �
�He’s grounded me.”

  “Really.” Mavis’s tone was dry. “Lance was often penalized for intentional grounding when he played pro football. My husband was always afraid of getting tackled. That’s also why his nickname was Out-of-Bounds Brodie. And speaking of beyond borders, there’s one other possibly intriguing thing I found out about your current suspects. Rodney and Millie flew to Switzerland in February for a week.”

  “Skiing?” Judith asked.

  “Dubious. They stayed in Zürich the entire time. The trip struck me as odd, but I don’t know why. There wasn’t anything special going on in the city that would have a big appeal for American tourists.”

  “Maybe they have friends there,” Judith suggested.

  “It’s possible.” Mavis checked her watch. “I should be getting back to the station. Is there anything else I should know?”

  Judith shook her head. “Nothing I can think of. I’d like to avoid any publicity linked to my B&B. As you mentioned, Millie’s death was probably an accident. We’ve heard nothing to indicate otherwise. That makes your news story a dead end. So to speak.” And wished she hadn’t said it in the first place.

  Back at Hillside Manor, Judith checked her Friday list of incoming guests for the Memorial Day weekend: a family from Rapid City, South Dakota, with two teenage daughters; two older couples from Appleton, Wisconsin, traveling together; a pair of Lewiston, Idaho, brothers who were checking out West Coast graduate schools; and a baseball scout and his wife from Dallas. They all sounded benign to Judith. But she reminded herself that so had the Schmucks.

  Joe had left to do some shopping, mainly at the hardware store. Around three o’clock, Judith called Renie. “What do you know about Zürich?” she asked her cousin.

  “As much as you do,” Renie replied. “Z for Zürich, Z for zilch. When we were in Switzerland, you may recall our only stop was Lucerne. Nice lake, creepy covered bridge, good food, and a friendly piano player in whichever bar we were hanging out in that night. Why do you ask?”

  Judith explained what Mavis had told her about the Schmucks’ February trip. “She thought it was odd.”

  “The Schmucks are odd,” Renie said. “Why do you care if they went to Zürich?”

  “I looked up the city on the Internet,” Judith replied. “It’s famous for its medical clinics.”

  “You feel sick?”

  “Hardly. But it is suggestive, don’t you think?”

  Renie didn’t respond right away. “Well, I suppose it could be. You found that list of drugs, right? Maybe one of them was ill.”

  “That’s what crossed my mind,” Judith said. “Millie, I figure. Unless . . . let’s face it, Rodney is a mental and emotional mess. I wonder if he was like that before his wife died. His obsession about me being his mother might indicate that.”

  “Didn’t you think it was a ruse to butter you up so they could get their paws on your property and the rest of the cul-de-sac?”

  “Yes, and I still think that’s part of it. I never saw the birth certificate, though Rodney claimed to have it. I wonder if he was lying.” Judith sighed. “I’m frustrated. Joe told me to butt out. Maybe I should.”

  “You know you can’t,” Renie said quietly. “Even if no crime has been committed, you still feel responsible in some way for Rodney. Don’t argue. You’ve got a kind heart and you know he’s being railroaded by his so-called friends. I don’t care what Mavis found out about their backgrounds, I still think they’re a bunch of con artists.”

  The doorbell sounded. “Somebody’s here,” Judith said. “I’ll call you back, okay?” She hung up.

  When she opened the front door, a gray-haired woman of about sixty stood at almost military attention. Judith expected her to salute. She wasn’t carrying a purse, but what appeared to be a large briefcase. “Mrs. Flynn?” the stranger queried in a deep, rich voice.

  “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “Perhaps.” The woman looked to her left, right, and behind her. “Yes, I’ll come in, if you don’t mind.”

  Judith ushered her into the living room, indicating the newcomer should sit on one of the blue sofas. “I’m Judith Flynn, the owner of this B&B. Are you interested in reserving a room?” she asked, sitting down on the other sofa.

  “I know who you are,” the woman replied, shaking out the pleats in her long, plain skirt. She cleared her throat. “My name is Judith Grover.”

  Chapter 24

  Judith thought she hadn’t heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

  The other woman’s thin mouth hinted at a smile. “I’m Judith Grover,” she repeated. “Yes, I understand that was your maiden name as well. I’ve never married, but I’ve borne a son. I immediately put him up for adoption. His new parents called him Rodney Schmuck. I’ve been trying to find him for some time.”

  Judith leaned back against the sofa cushions. “I see. Yes, of course. He was staying here at the B&B, but he’s gone now. I mean, he’s still in town, but not here.” She paused, watching the other Judith’s face react with only a slight twitch. “Did you hire a detective to find him?”

  “I did.” She gazed up at the high ceiling before looking again at Judith. “I swore I’d never do that. You see, I wasn’t married when I gave birth to Rodney. I was only seventeen and his father was much older. He was out of the picture as soon as I discovered I was enceinte. And please call me Jude. I was never a Judy type of person and I feel Judith is rather stilted.”

  Despite thinking the formal version fit her visitor more accurately, Judith smiled. “Of course, Jude. But you changed your mind about finding Rodney?”

  “I turned sixty-two in March,” Jude responded. “I retired from my government job at the end of April and I decided it was time to review my life. In retrospect, it seemed right that I should try to find the only real legacy that I have. By that, I mean my son.”

  “That’s understandable,” Judith said.

  Jude offered a slight nod of agreement. “The detective traced him to an exclusive neighborhood north of the city, but when I called there, I was told he’d left. Are you certain you don’t know where he is now?”

  “Rodney and his daughter—your granddaughter—moved into a downtown hotel,” Judith replied.

  “Granddaughter?” Jude showed a hint of curiosity. “What is her name?”

  “Belle,” Judith said. “Actually, it’s Arabella.”

  “That’s . . . that’s rather nice.” Rodney’s mother actually looked pleased. “I suppose I could start calling the hotels.”

  “You could,” Judith responded, then reluctantly added, “but they may be registered under assumed names.”

  Jude frowned. “Why would they do such a thing?”

  “Ah . . .” Judith hesitated. “There was friction between them and their traveling companions over a business venture. It seems the main reason they came here was to buy up property and build condos.”

  “How odd. I was told Rodney is a motivational speaker. My informant turned up nothing about any involvement in real estate.”

  “All I know is what I learned while they were here.” Judith paused again, wondering how candid she could be with the woman who called herself Rodney’s birth mother. “Did you keep his birth certificate?”

  “Of course,” Jude replied. “I brought it with me. Would you like to see it?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Judith said.

  Jude opened the case and removed a slightly wrinkled sheet of blue paper. “I moved away from here not long after I gave birth to Rodney. I’ve been living in Denver for many years,” she said, handing over the certificate. “I worked for the U.S. Mint there.”

  Judith smiled as she scanned the information. “Your son was born in the same hospital as mine. My Mike is several years younger, though. He works for the forest service and is currently in Maine.”

  “A commendable type of job,” Jude remarked, taking the certificate from Judith. “You’re certain you have no idea where Rodney is?”

  “I�
��m afraid I don’t,” Judith said as they both got up from the sofas. “Where are you staying?”

  “At one of those residence inns not far from here,” Jude replied as they went into the hall. She bit her lip. “Please don’t think me fanciful. Over the years, I did something rather foolish.” She stopped, looking uncertain.

  “Don’t we all do foolish things from time to time?” Judith asked softly.

  “I suppose.” Jude stared at the Persian carpet before looking again at Judith. “While working at the mint for almost forty years, I saved the new coins that were made there. Be assured, I paid for them and acquired a great many. I have no idea what the amount totaled.” She paused once more. “The coins were for my son, should I find him. When I found out he was living in a wealthy community, I realized he probably had money of his own. All the same, I anonymously shipped the coins to him in a large wooden chest. Do you think that was folly on my part?”

  Judith tried not to show her surprise. “Of course I don’t. You intended that he should have them. It was very thoughtful of you.”

  Another faint smile touched Jude’s thin lips. “You’re quite a sympathetic person. I must go now. Thank you.” She opened the door and marched down the steps.

  Judith half expected to hear a drumroll.

  Five minutes later, Renie came through the back door, announcing that lunch with the dweeb had been so tiresome that she’d had to cheer herself up by buying a new handbag at the local accessories store. After ten more minutes and another futile attempt by her cousin to raid the cookie jar, Judith had unloaded her account of Jude’s visit to the B&B.

  “Well,” Renie said after one last resentful glare at the sheep-shaped cookie jar, “you solved the part about the chest. That’s a big house with tons of storage room, so why would they bury the chest in the woods?”

  “Who knows?” Judith responded. “It might have been some goofy idea of Rodney’s. He wouldn’t know where it came from, and unfortunately, I never asked him about it. When I deal with that poor guy, I feel as if I’m going from one debacle to the next.”