Hocus Croakus

by Mary Daheim

  “That’s odd,” Renie remarked. “Why not tell both of you?”

  “Micki didn’t like cops,” Judith said. “That’s why she came to me. She’d heard about my knack for listening to people.” Skipping the part about Emily and the Internet site, Judith looked at Bill. “You say she was stabbed?”

  Bill nodded. “Apparently with the saber the blonde was holding. Who is she?”

  Judith looked around the foyer. Only a handful of guests were still waiting to exit. Bob Bearclaw was holding the poodle, which seemed to have calmed down. With his keen eyes studying every individual in his line of sight, the doorman seemed to have assumed authority.

  Bill put a hand on each of the cousins’ backs. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We’re in the way.”

  Judith saw what Bill meant as medics rolled a gurney toward them on their way to the rest room. The threesome edged over to the velvet ropes, then got into the short line of people who were leaving the coffee shop area.

  “Let’s move to the Autumn Bar,” Judith suggested as Amos waved them through. “It’s the closest, so probably it’d be the first place Joe would look for us when he’s finished. If he ever finishes,” she added.

  The bar was almost full, mainly, it seemed, with customers abuzz about the most recent tragedy. Bill managed to secure a table in the farthest corner, under a sinewy branch of artificial gold-and-orange maple.

  “Say,” Judith said, recognizing the young waiter serving the next table, “he’s the one who waited on the blonde and her dog, Fou-Fou. Maybe he knows who she is.”

  “You’ve seen her before?” Bill asked in surprise.

  “Not more than a couple of hours ago,” Renie said. “She and the poodle were well on their way to getting wasted.”

  “The woman certainly was that,” Bill noted. “The dog seemed fairly sober, though.”

  “Maybe the dog knew when to quit,” Judith said. “Ah—here’s the waiter.”

  “You’re back, ladies,” the young man said, looking suitably somber. “Have you come from the coffee shop, by any chance? Everybody else here seems to have been on hand for…well, for what happened.”

  Judith noted that the waiter’s name tag identified him as Cyril. “Do you know the blonde woman who was with the poodle?”

  The question seemed to startle the young man. “The one with the dog that drinks?” He shook his head. “I’d never seen her before this afternoon. Why?”

  Judith explained that the blonde was the woman who had been found holding the bloody saber.

  “No kidding!” Cyril’s eyes got very big. “I didn’t know that. Everybody I’ve talked to in the bar has sort of babbled.”

  “But you’d never seen her until this afternoon?” Judith said.

  Cyril shook his head. “I’ve had customers with dogs and cats before, even snakes and ferrets and monkeys, but none of the animals drank liquor.”

  Which, Judith figured, was just as well. Cyril took the group’s orders and returned to the bar.

  “Where’s the best place to stab someone?” Judith asked.

  Renie wrinkled her pug nose. “In the heart?”

  Judith looked askance at her cousin. “I’m talking geography, not anatomy.”

  “I think Judith’s referring to the bathroom,” Bill put in, “or in this case, the rest room. You can clean up fast.”

  “Exactly,” Judith said.

  “Sally wasn’t stabbed in the rest room,” Renie noted. “In fact, do we know where she was stabbed? And I don’t mean the heart this time.”

  Judith scowled at Renie. “Joe hasn’t told me. But I’m betting on the area under the stage. Don’t you think that Sally must have dropped through a trapdoor before Freddy did his thing with the sabers?”

  “You’re assuming that was Sally,” Renie countered. “I thought we figured that because of the time factor with the power failure, someone must have impersonated Sally. The question is, who? Inga’s too stout. I don’t know where Micki would have put all that red hair, not to mention the fact that she’s too petite. Who am I leaving out?”

  “Grisly,” Judith responded. “She’s fair haired and tall. The problem is, she doesn’t have Sally’s figure for the grand finale.”

  “Whoever it was,” Renie said, “swirled around in that big cape before she got in the cabinet. You really couldn’t see much of her shape.”

  “But she’d shed the cape when Freddy opened it at the end,” Bill pointed out. “The evening gown revealed a knockout figure.”

  “You would notice that,” Renie murmured.

  “The part about the curves bothers me,” Judith said in a musing tone.

  Cyril returned with their drinks. Judith knew how busy he was with the crush of customers, but she had another question to ask him.

  “How long did the blond woman stay in the bar after my cousin and I left?”

  Cyril thought for a moment. “Twenty, thirty minutes? The lady and the poodle had a total of five drinks apiece.”

  Judith was puzzled. In those hardscrabble years when she worked days at the local library and nights behind the bar at the Meat & Mingle, five drinks usually didn’t put a customer into a catatonic state. Unless they’d had a head start, of course. “Did the blonde stick to wine?”

  “No,” Cyril replied. “She ordered tequila shots when that older guy joined her.”

  Judith’s eyes bugged. “Older guy? Do you know who it was?”

  “Oh, sure,” Cyril answered, turning to look toward the far end of the bar. “I’ve waited on him several times in the last few days. It was him.” He pointed a finger at the bulky form of G. D. Fromm, who was straddling his bar stool as if it were a pony to oblivion.

  Judith tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. “Did that man and the blonde seem to know each other or was he hitting on her?”

  Nodding to a thirsty couple at a nearby table, Cyril considered the question. “Gosh—I’m not sure. It got really busy about then, with all the predinner trade. Hey, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to wait on these other customers. I’ll be back if you want another round.”

  “I didn’t come here to get smashed,” Renie declared. “I came here to lose my money. Suddenly, I feel lucky again.”

  “Go for it,” Bill said amiably. “I’ll look out back for a cardboard box we can live in after we leave.”

  Renie, however, sipped daintily at her Drambuie. “I intend to enjoy my drink before I impoverish us. Besides, if I lose all our money, we won’t have to help pay for our children’s weddings.”

  “A point well taken,” Bill said.

  Judith barely heard the banter between Renie and Bill. She was watching G. D. Fromm drink what looked like brandy. She was also wishing that the people who sat on the bar stools to each side of Fromm would make their departure.

  Inspiration struck. “I need a glass of water to take my pain pills,” Judith said suddenly. “I don’t want to bother Cyril, so I’ll go up to the bar and get it myself.”

  Bill and Renie made no comment. Judith angled her way between the tables. Freddy Polson’s manager was sitting on the next-to-the-last bar stool, by the serving counter. Judith noted that G. D. Fromm was indeed drinking brandy, savoring every sniff and swallow.

  The bartender, a stocky black-haired woman with a dour expression, was busy mixing drinks. Judith was in no hurry. She assumed a nonchalant air, studying the bottles behind the bar, the glassware, and the leaf-shaped etchings on the counter’s glass top.

  Judith’s seemingly blasé manner was jarred when Grisly Vanderbehr hurtled toward G. D. Fromm.

  “G.D.,” she practically shouted, “you’ve got to come to Freddy’s suite at once. He’s a mess. Even Inga can’t do anything with him.”

  G.D. barely looked up from his brandy. “So what makes you think I can?”

  Grisly pinched G.D.’s ear. “If Inga says you can help, then you can. Inga knows what’s good for Freddy. So do I. Get off your fat butt and come upstairs.”

  G.D.
angrily shook off Grisly’s hold on his ear. “I’ll come when I damned well feel like it,” he said in a rumbling basso. “I’m going to finish my drink first.”

  Grisly stood back a few inches, thin arms crossed over her flat bosom. “Fine. Freddy’s lost an ex-wife and a fiancée in the last twenty-four hours. Just sit there like a big toad and see the whole act go down the toilet. It’s your livelihood, not mine.” She swung around and stomped out of the bar.

  “Livelihood, my ass,” G.D. snarled to nobody in particular. “As if she’s ever worked a day in her worthless life.” He sniffed and sipped.

  The young man who’d been sitting on the bar stool at the end of the counter guzzled down the rest of his beer, tossed a ten-dollar bill next to his tab, and walked off. Judith slid into his place.

  “I’m so sorry for what’s happened with the Great Mandolini,” she said softly. “My husband’s kept me informed.”

  Rubbing at the ear that Grisly had pinched, G.D.’s beady, dark eyes glared at Judith. “And who the hell are you?”

  “Mrs. Flynn,” Judith replied in the same soft voice. “Mrs. Joe Flynn.”

  G.D. raised his bushy eyebrows, but his attitude thawed a bit. “The private dick? Hunh. I thought I’d seen you around. You’re Fatso, right?”

  Judith flinched. “Uh…yes, I am. Who told you that?”

  G.D. frowned. “I don’t remember. Inga, maybe.”

  The bartender came up to Judith. “What’ll it be, hon?” she asked in a whiskey soprano.

  “Just a glass of water, please,” Judith said humbly. “My Galliano-rocks is back at the table,” she added, pointing over her shoulder. “I have to take my pain pills.”

  “Right.” The bartender moved down to the water-dispensing area, filled a glass, and plunked it down in front of Judith. “Cheers.”

  “Thank you.” Judith realized that she hadn’t brought her purse with her. She also realized that she was over an hour away from her next dose of pain pills. “Freddy must be overcome,” she said. “How can he bear it?”

  “So he’s got a choice?” G.D. growled. “Hell, if I were him, and had all those meddlesome women hanging around my neck, I’d be damned glad to get rid of a couple of ’em.” The manager took another sniff and another swig.

  “‘Meddlesome’?” Judith repeated. G.D. shot her a dark look. “Never mind. Forget what I said.” His small eyes darted to the counter. “I don’t see any pills, Fatso.”

  Judith knew dismissal when she heard it. But that didn’t mean she was going to walk away meekly. “How long have you been Freddy’s manager?”

  G.D. shrugged. “Almost four years. How come you’re so snoopy?”

  “Because,” she replied, trying not to grit her teeth, “I’m Fatso.”

  “Oh.” G.D. chuckled unpleasantly. “I almost forgot. So you go around quizzing people, huh? Well, I don’t feel like being quizzed.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Judith saw Bill and Renie get up and move out of the bar. “Damn!” Judith swore under her breath. “My purse! My drink!” Heedless of her artificial hip, she slid off the bar stool and headed for the now-vacant table.

  Her purse was still under her chair; the Gallianorocks remained on the table. Judith scooped up both, then started back to the bar.

  G. D. Fromm was gone. She watched him disappear beyond a half dozen people waiting for a table. About twenty yards away, she saw Bill and Renie part company. He was headed for the table games. Renie was marching off to the quarter slots in the Autumn section. Judith followed, in pursuit.

  “You left my purse unattended,” Judith cried when she caught up with Renie, who was sitting down at a Fall into Riches machine. “I could have been robbed!”

  “Try a one-armed bandit instead,” Renie replied in a voice that was aggravatingly calm. “Take a seat.”

  Judith was still annoyed with Renie. “How could you and Bill walk off and leave my purse like that? Why didn’t you bring it up to me at the bar? Not to mention my drink.”

  “Why don’t you take responsibility for going off and leaving us while you play detective?” Renie shot back, slinging quarters into her machine. “We’d already left once to go to the rest room. Nobody stole your damned purse then.”

  “I can’t believe you two,” Judith grumbled as she sat down next to her cousin. “I’m checking to make sure nobody stole my wallet.” Rummaging in her capacious black bag, Judith felt the wallet, safe and sound. She also felt something else that she couldn’t identify by touch. Taking it out, she saw that it was a cocktail napkin from the bar. Someone had written on it in a hasty scrawl.

  “Good Lord!” Judith gasped. “Look at this!” With an unsteady hand, Judith shoved the note in front of Renie.

  “Butt Out Or You’ll Be Next.”

  A disinterested Renie leaned over to read the napkin’s message. She gave a start and her expression showed alarm. “Could it be a joke?”

  “If it is,” Judith replied on a steely note, “I’m not laughing.”

  ELEVEN

  RENIE WAS STILL looking at the note. “Who do you think wrote that?”

  “I don’t know.” Judith reexamined the napkin. “Whoever it was must have come along while you and your equally careless husband left my purse unguarded.”

  “Stick it,” Renie said. “You get so caught up in playing detective that you forget your real life. As in being responsible for your own possessions.”

  Judith shot Renie a reproachful look. “You’ve turned into someone I hardly recognize since you got to the casino. You’re all about greed.”

  “That’s why I go to casinos, dopey,” Renie said in a sour voice.

  Judith, who didn’t like to argue nearly as much as her cousin did, and rarely convinced Renie that she was wrong, dropped the subject. “I’m taking this note to Joe.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Renie inquired, rolling the barrels on her three-quarter slot.

  “Probably still with Micki’s body,” Judith replied. “They haven’t had very long to take pictures and do the rest of the crime-scene stuff. Say, where did you go to the rest room? The one by the coffee shop is closed.”

  “Right.” Renie jerked her arm in the opposite direction. “There are rest rooms between the bar and the Autumn section.”

  “I’m surprised you take time out to use the bathroom,” Judith retorted, still clutching the note. “I thought maybe you used those plastic buckets.” She stood up again. “I’m leaving now.”

  Renie stayed focused on the slot machine. “’Bye. Good luck.”

  “Impossible,” Judith declared as she walked away. “If I didn’t love her, I’d hate her.”

  The mood in the casino struck Judith as subdued. Or maybe she was imbuing gamblers with too much sensitivity. If Renie was typical, then a wholesale massacre could take place and the gamblers would scarcely bat an eye.

  The entrance to the coffee shop was still guarded by Emily and Amos. The crowd had thinned out considerably, though a few gawkers wandered by outside the roped-off area. Not gamblers, Judith thought, or they wouldn’t be interested.

  “Hi, Emily, Amos,” Judith said in greeting. “Is my husband still with the victim?”

  Emily offered Judith a warm smile. “I was wondering when you’d be here to help. I saw you leave with Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Are they suspects?”

  “Yes,” Judith said, her face serious as virtue lost out to mischief. “Yes, they are. Keep an eye on them, especially her. Mrs. Jones may be dangerous.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “Really? She looks so…”

  “Small and weak?” Judith shook her head. “Don’t buy into it. It’s a facade. She knows more martial arts than Jackie Chan.”

  “Wow!” Emily looked impressed.

  Amos’s expression, however, was slightly skeptical. “Were you interrogating them?” he inquired politely.

  “Certainly,” Judith responded. “Now what about Joe?”

  “He went upstairs to Mr. Green’s office just a couple
of minutes ago,” Emily said. “I think they’re going to remove the body soon. Oh—here comes the sheriff now.”

  Judith’s head swiveled in the direction of the rest rooms. To her dismay, Abbott N. Costello strode out into the foyer. So did another man in a similar gray uniform who also looked all too familiar. Dabney Plummer, Judith recalled. Seven years earlier, Dabney had been more boy than man. Now his tall, lean figure had fleshed out and his youthful features had sharpened. He had been more like Costello’s lackey than his associate. As the duo came closer, Judith ducked her head.

  “I’m going to find Joe,” she murmured and somehow managed to escape undetected by the sheriff and his deputy.

  To Judith’s surprise, the receptionist’s desk that Emily had manned earlier was now occupied by Grisly Vanderbehr. She gave Judith a hostile look.

  “What do you want?” Grisly demanded.

  “I want to speak to my husband.” Judith nodded toward the closed door that led into Pancho’s inner sanctum. “He’s in there, isn’t he?”

  “He’s busy in there,” Grisly snapped. “Do you want to leave a message?”

  “No, I do not,” Judith said emphatically. “What I have to say to Mr. Flynn is urgent.”

  “Oooh…” Grisly slapped a hand on the desk. “Okay, okay, but make it quick.”

  Judith was sufficiently surprised by the number of people who had crowded into Pancho’s office: There was Pancho himself, G. D. Fromm, Lloyd Watts, Manny Quinn, Jack Jackrabbit, and, of course, Joe. But what startled Judith most was the sight of Freddy Polson, propped up in a chair and being ministered to by his sister, Inga. Freddy’s skin was very pale, his cheeks looked sunken, and his eyes were red. His sister appeared to be proffering some kind of hot drink in a mug.

  Everyone except the Polson duo stared when Judith entered the room. She pointed to Joe. “May I? It’ll take only a minute.”

  Joe looked more annoyed than curious, but he stood up and walked over to Judith.

  “Look,” she said, showing him the cocktail napkin with its dire warning.

  Joe excused himself and propelled Judith not only out of the room, but through the reception area and into the hallway. “Where the hell did that come from?” he asked in an irritable tone.