Hocus Croakus

by Mary Daheim

  The summer mood upon them, Judith and Renie diverged from their usual Scotch and bourbon, opting instead for daiquiris. After they’d been served, Judith sat back in the white-pine Adirondack chair and sighed.

  “I can’t seem to get a handle on any of this,” she declared. “It isn’t as if I haven’t been on the outside of an investigation before. But this one utterly stumps me.”

  “You’ve been stumped before and still come up with the who-done-it,” Renie said. “Besides, you’ve had too many distractions, what with the B&B remodeling and what’s going on at the cabin site.”

  “Which I also can’t figure out,” Judith said. “The cabin, I mean. I wonder if there really is gold somewhere on the property.”

  “Dubious,” Renie said. “If it was buried after it was mined, the family would have found it. Don’t you remember how often we used to have to dig a new privy hole?”

  “True. But we hardly covered every inch of ground. What if—” She stopped speaking as Lloyd Watts entered the bar.

  “Lloyd!” she called as he started to sit down at a nearby table. “Won’t you join us?”

  Looking at the cousins in surprise, he hesitated, then came toward them. “Sure. Hear about the fight?”

  “We saw it,” Judith responded. “Were you in the crowd that was watching?”

  Lloyd shook his head. “I got there just as they were taking a few of the guys to the hospital.”

  “Was anyone seriously hurt?” Judith inquired.

  “I heard one of the security guards say that somebody from Craven Raven got a nasty head cut. Another,” Lloyd said, interrupting himself to give his club-soda order to the hovering waiter. “The Kitshickers’ lead guitarist hurt his hand pretty bad.” He paused again, apparently to recall who else was on the disabled list. “Oh—the Craven Raven drummer broke a finger and their bass player sprained his wrist.”

  Renie took a sip of her daiquiri before asking a question of her own. “Kitshickers was the band that replaced your act, right?”

  Gazing at Renie’s glass, Lloyd nodded. “Your drink’s on fire.”

  Renie and Judith stared as flames erupted from the cocktail.

  “Yikes!” Renie cried, attempting to fan the fire with her hand.

  The flames went out immediately. Lloyd chuckled. “That’s one hot drink, eh?”

  Renie stared at the daiquiri. “Is it safe or will I die of sulfur poisoning?”

  “It’s safe,” Lloyd replied in his laconic manner. “It’s an illusion, that’s all. You were watching my face, and not really seeing what else was going on.”

  “Whew!” Renie grinned and passed her hand over her forehead. “I’ll have to trust you.”

  Lloyd shrugged. The waiter returned with the club soda. “That fight caused a problem.” He sipped his drink.

  “How do you mean?” Judith asked.

  “For us. For Freddy.” Lloyd looked worried.

  “How so?” Judith persisted.

  “Neither of the bands can play tomorrow night. Too banged up.”

  “Who’s playing tonight?” Judith inquired.

  “Tonight’s a benefit for the local volunteer firefighters.” Lloyd took another sip. “Kind of a talent show.”

  Renie had dared to sample her drink. It tasted just fine. “Can’t the casino book someone else by tomorrow?”

  “Pretty short notice,” said Lloyd. “Pancho Green’s upset.” He paused to sip again. “Guess we’ll have to go on after all, eh? It’s just one show. It’s the end of the run here anyway.”

  Judith was aghast. “How can you perform? I saw Freddy this afternoon and he’s a mess. Besides, he has no assistant.”

  “Needs must,” Lloyd said with another shrug. “I’ll help.” He stared off in the direction of a salmonberry bush. “The show must go on, eh?”

  Judith and Renie followed his gaze.

  A rainbow trout leaped out of the bush and jumped into the small stream by the bar.

  Judith was beginning to wonder what was real and what was not.

  SEVENTEEN

  JUDITH COULD HARDLY believe that Freddy would be able to perform in just a little over twenty-four hours. But as she and Renie headed back to the elevators to go upstairs and change for dinner, the hotel staff was erecting the signs announcing the Great Mandolini’s farewell performance.

  Joe was already dressed when Judith returned to their room. She assumed he’d resumed his nap, but there was no sign of the laundry bag containing the taffeta skirt. Maybe she’d misjudged him. He must have gone back to work, not back to sleep.

  But her husband’s siesta wasn’t uppermost on her mind. “I’m amazed,” she declared after informing Joe about Freddy’s return to the stage on Thursday night. “I saw him this afternoon. He’s a wreck.”

  Joe shrugged. “The show must go on. Besides, it might do him good. Lots of people submerge their sorrow in work.”

  “True,” Judith conceded. “Oh, Joe,” she continued, putting her hands on his shoulders, “I’ve so much to tell you. Do we have time to talk before we meet Renie and Bill? I told Renie we’d be at the salmon house by six-fifteen.”

  Joe grimaced. “It’s five to six now. Can you change clothes and talk at the same time?”

  “Of course,” Judith replied, going to the closet and taking out a two-piece purple ensemble that was a perfect match for the amethyst necklace and earrings Joe had given her for Christmas. She began with the latest news from Hillside Manor.

  With scarcely a pause for breath, Judith backtracked to breakfast with Inga, then moved on to Freddy’s suite, in the afternoon. “It’s strange, in a way,” she said, slipping into her black suede sandals. “Freddy’s just a shadow of himself. I’ve never seen anyone so prostrated by grief.”

  Joe looked in the mirror over the dresser to adjust his tie. “As Inga likes to say, her brother is very sensitive because he’s an artiste.”

  “Freddy’s suffered two losses,” Judith noted, “so his emotional state is understandable. But he seems more disturbed over Sally’s death than Micki’s. He talks mostly about Sally, unless I’m imagining it. His behavior really puzzles me.”

  Joe shrugged. “He’d spent most of his life with Sally. From what I gather, he’s known Micki for only a couple of years.”

  “I suppose,” Judith allowed, standing in front of the mirror to apply her makeup. Briefly, she thought back to the years between Dan’s death and her marriage to Joe. She couldn’t recall speaking effusively or at length about her first husband. Maybe she’d been trying to forget, at least the bad times. Only in the security of her union with Joe had she begun to mention the better side of Dan, the rare virtues, the occasional joy, and especially his role as a father to Mike. For that, she would be ever grateful to Dan McMonigle.

  “Then there was the brawl between the two bands,” Judith continued, carefully putting on her lipstick. “Did you hear about that?”

  “Uh—yes,” Joe replied. “You actually saw it?”

  Judith nodded. “We were getting out of the elevator. It was quite a fight, but Bob Bearclaw managed to end it. Anyway, Renie and I…Oh! I forgot to tell you about the argument between Inga and G. D. Fromm in the parking garage.”

  At this point, Joe was leaning against the wall by the door. “What were you doing in the parking garage? You worry me. Are you actually looking for trouble, Jude-girl?”

  “No. I guess we poked the wrong elevator button.” Judith put her cosmetics away and gave her salt-and-pepper hair a vigorous brushing. “By the way, don’t call me ‘Jude-girl.’ You know I’ve never liked that nickname. It makes me sound like a wind-up doll.”

  Joe looked hurt. “You don’t think it takes us back to our youth?”

  “It does,” Judith replied. “You always called me that when we were dating, but after you dumped me for Herself, I never liked the nickname.”

  Joe moved away from the door. “I thought you’d forgiven me for that.”

  “I have. Of course I have,” Ju
dith reiterated. “But once in a while, ‘Jude-girl’ can still conjure up unhappy memories.”

  Joe looked perplexed. “What should I call you? ‘Judith-woman’?”

  “Hmm. I’ll have to think about it.”

  “How about this?” Joe said, moving to the nightstand and picking up the message tablet. “You would never have brought up the subject if you weren’t frustrated over the murder case. But it’s not the first time you’ve beaten your head against a brick wall. And almost always, you finger the perp.”

  Judith stared at Joe to see if he was humoring her. “What’s the point of all this?”

  Joe gave Judith a quirky smile. “You started it, Jude…my dear.” He handed her the tablet and a pen. “Just for the hell of it, I’ll give you twenty-four hours to write down the name of who you think killed Sally and Micki. By that time, the police might have solved the case. If they haven’t, the bet’s off. But if they’ve fingered the perp, and you’re wrong, you’ve got to promise to stop putting yourself in jeopardy by getting involved in every homicide that crosses your path.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Joe nodded. He had not only turned serious, he looked downright solemn. She put the hairbrush back in her purse.

  “I really mean it,” Joe replied. “Your guardian angel must be about to submit his—or her—resignation. Eventually, your luck will run out, just like it does for any gambler. Do we have a deal?”

  Judith was stunned. Her initial reaction was to refuse. But Joe had a point. There had been so many close calls, so many scrapes with danger, so many near-death experiences. Too often, she’d put herself—and sometimes Renie—at risk. Besides, she had twenty-four hours to identify the killer.

  “Okay,” she said with a tight little smile, “I’ll do it.” She pushed the pen and tablet away. “I’m not ready yet, but when I am, I’ll write it down and put the name in the hotel safe.”

  “Good. Let me know when you do. I want to be there to see you hand it over for safekeeping. Better yet, let’s say we’ll go to the cashier’s window at six tomorrow evening. Okay?”

  “That’s less than twenty-four hours,” Judith pointed out.

  “Only by a few minutes.” He kissed Judith gently on the lips. “Are you ready for dinner?”

  “Yes,” Judith replied. “I’ll tell you about Lloyd Watts in the elevator.”

  Heaving a big sigh, Joe opened the door. “You were in the elevator with Lloyd Watts? What did you do, find him in the parking garage?”

  “No,” Judith replied, exasperated. “We met up with him in the Summer Bar after the fight.”

  “You’ve had a busy day,” Joe remarked as they headed down the corridor.

  “Yes, I have.” Judith watched Joe poke the elevator button. She hadn’t yet mentioned her stop at the family cabin site. Maybe that could wait. Relating the conversation with Lloyd would take up the brief time before they got to the salmon house.

  There was no waiting list for seatings this early in the evening. Bill and Renie hadn’t arrived yet, so the Flynns decided to claim a table. The restaurant was officially called the Stillasnowamish Salmon House. The interior was modeled after the local tribes’ wooden high-ceilinged longhouses. The tantalizing aroma of smoked salmon lingered in the air. Though the cedar furnishings looked rustic, the chairs were very comfortable. The walls were decorated with handcrafted masks, spears, and various animal hides.

  Judith again ordered a daiquiri, but Joe stayed with his favorite Scotch.

  “Lloyd sounds pretty clever,” Joe remarked. “Why can’t he stand in for Freddy if the show must go on?”

  “Freddy says Lloyd isn’t ready for big performances,” Judith replied. “He can do the small stuff, but I suppose the big illusions, especially in front of an audience, are more difficult. Say, what have you found out about Marta Ormond Flax?”

  Joe frowned. “She swears she doesn’t remember anything after being in the bar with her poodle yesterday afternoon. The next thing she knew, she woke up this morning in the Glacier Falls hospital. The lab tests won’t be back for a couple of days, so we have no idea what was in her system except for the booze.”

  “Does she admit to being a drinker?” Judith asked.

  Joe chuckled as their own drinks arrived. “Marta allowed that she enjoys the occasional cocktail. As does Fou-Fou.”

  “Hey!” It was Renie, charging toward the table. “You started without us!”

  “We wanted to be sure we got a good place,” Judith replied. “You can watch them barbecue the salmon from here. Where’s Bill?”

  “He stopped to admire the trout tank,” Renie said, sitting down. “With sports fishing so lousy around here, he hasn’t seen trout that size in years except at Falstaff’s Grocery.”

  “Who has?” Joe remarked in sympathy.

  Bill strolled over to the table. “I might play some baccarat tonight. How about it, Joe?”

  “Actually play?” Joe feigned amazement. “Not just study and watch?”

  “I’m ready,” Bill declared, sitting next to Renie. “I won a hunsky at craps last night.”

  “Can I have some of it?” Renie asked, pleading like a puppy.

  Bill ignored her.

  Renie pouted.

  Somehow, the dinner conversation managed to skirt the topic of murder. Everyone ordered the salmon, its delicious flavor enhanced by the smoke from the alder planks on which it had been cooked. Joe and Bill planned their baccarat strategy, which seemed to consist of how much money they could afford to lose. Judith fussed about the B&B renovations. Renie fretted over her children’s weddings. At the end of the meal, Bill silently reached into the pocket of his brown corduroy vest, took out a small leather purse, and handed Renie a fifty-dollar bill.

  “Stick to roulette,” he advised.

  “Oh, Bill,” Renie cried, planting a big kiss on his cheek, “I love you so!”

  As the men parted company with the women outside the restaurant, Judith asked her cousin if she really intended to stick to roulette.

  “Sure,” Renie replied. “That way, if I hit a couple of numbers, I can go play the slots. Come on, coz, join me.”

  Judith winced. “It’s a five-dollar minimum for the numbers, right? That’s a lot. I’ll just wander around for a bit.”

  Renie shrugged. “Whatever.” She moved swiftly toward the roulette wheels.

  Judith kept alert for anyone connected to the Mandolini act. She hit her own version of pay dirt when she spotted Manny Quinn at one of the craps tables. The atmosphere was subdued. Judith assumed nobody was winning. Apparently, Manny felt the same way. He moved on.

  A cheer went up from the next table. There was room for at least a couple of newcomers. Manny slipped in between an older man in coveralls and a clean-cut young fellow who looked like a college student. Judith waited a few moments before approaching the table. There was a spot open on the corner, between the college student and a petite blonde with a rose tattoo on her left hand.

  Judith couldn’t remember the protocol for craps. A row of black, blue, green, and red chips stood on end in the table’s grove, where Manny stood. Judith leaned down to whisper to the blonde: “What’s the buy-in here?”

  The blonde shrugged. “If you want to go low ball, give them forty bucks. It’s a five-dollar minimum here at night. Get some dollar chips, too.”

  Judith gulped, nodded, and obeyed. A bearded man next to the blonde held the dice. The stickman shouted, “Coming out!” Encouraging cheers rose from not only the players, but the employees working the table. Noting that everyone seemed to have placed chips on the line that read “PASS,” she followed suit.

  The man threw a three. Judith was puzzled when everyone else groaned. Her chip, along with the others, disappeared. The college student shook his head and walked away. Judith was now next to Manny Quinn.

  “What’s wrong with a three?” she asked.

  Manny turned to look at her. “Oh. It’s you.” He didn’t sound pleased but had the grace
to explain the throw. “He threw a three on his first roll. He crapped out.”

  “I see.” Everyone was putting chips on “PASS” again. Judith reluctantly did the same.

  The blonde threw a two. “Snake eyes,” said the stickman with a sad little smile. Again, all the chips were swept away. Two must not be any good either, Judith thought to herself.

  With an angry motion, Manny put a black chip on the line. Judith remembered that black stood for a hunsky. With a little sigh, she set down another five dollars.

  “Do it,” Manny ordered in a gruff voice.

  “Do what?” Judith asked.

  He pointed to the stickman, who was pushing the dice at Judith. “You’re up next. Throw the damned things. Make us some money.”

  “Oh, dear.” She thought she’d seen other people pass the dice. But Manny made her feel as if she had to play. Nervously, she picked up two of the red dice. Shaking them as if they were a pint of heavy cream, she aimed for the far end of the table. The dice bounced a bit, but settled into a two and a five. Everyone cheered.

  “That’s the way,” Manny said, grinning. “Do it again.”

  Judith did. This time she rolled a one and a six. More cheers, more applause, more encouragement from Manny as well as the stickman. On the third try, the dice turned up a four and a six.

  “Ten’s a tough point to make,” Manny remarked. “Go for it.”

  Judith threw a six.

  “Cover the six and the eight,” Manny murmured.

  “Huh?”

  Handing over several blue and black chips, Manny requested that they be placed behind the row of numbers on the other side of the table. “Go on,” he said to Judith, “do it. A five and a one.”

  Feeling stupid, Judith did as she was told. She threw an eight.

  “Is that good?” she inquired.

  “Yes, it’s great,” Manny said, then pointed to his chips and called to the stickman. “Press it.”

  Judith threw an eight, a six, another eight. The table was going wild. Everybody else seemed to be covering the six and eight, too.