by Mary Daheim
“What’s that?” Judith asked, pointing to a cluster of dice figures on the green baize table that said HARD-WAYS.
“That’s if you throw two fives to make your point instead of the four and six you threw the first time,” Manny explained. “It pays seven to one. Try it. I think I will, too.”
Aware that all eyes were upon her, Judith hesitated. Finally, not wanting the rest of the players to think she was chicken, she put a red chip on the pair of dice that showed two fives.
She threw an eight. “Drat!”
“No problem,” Manny said amid the other gamblers’ high fives and whoops of joy. “You made more money behind the line. The hardways bet stays until you crap out or throw a six and a four to make your point.”
“Oh.” With a full table now and several onlookers cheering her on, Judith threw again. A six, another six, an eight—and at last, two fives. The crowd went wild. Even the stickman, the dealers, and the boxman were applauding. Manny grabbed Judith in his arms and kissed her.
“You were great!” he exclaimed. “Keep rolling!”
Judith felt depleted. “I can’t. I have to sit down.” She smiled weakly. “I have a bad hip.”
“Get her a chair!” someone yelled. “I’ll hold her up!” another shouted. “You rule, babe!” cried a third voice.
The stickman proffered the dice again, but Judith shook her head. The whole table groaned.
“I’m buying you a drink,” Manny announced. “Collect your winnings and let’s go to the Spring Bar. This is the best run I’ve had in days.”
“Did I win much?” Judith asked as Manny collected his chips.
“You did just fine,” he replied. “You were smart to leave your original bets behind the line.”
“I was?”
“Sure. Some people take them down every time they win,” Manny said, sizing up his own windfall. “But neither of us did. That means we just kept adding on. I made close to two grand off you.”
Judith received a black chip, a couple of greens, and some red. “I guess I got almost two hundred dollars.”
“You should’ve bet up,” Manny said as they walked away from the table. “I take it you’re new at craps.”
Judith nodded. “I’ve never played before.”
“Beginner’s luck, maybe,” he noted as they approached the Spring Bar with its falling petals, drifting cottonwood fluff, and chirping birds. “I’d like to have seen you keep at it. You were literally on a roll.”
“I decided to quit while I was ahead,” Judith said. “I didn’t want to lose the other players’ money in case I pooped out the next time around. Then they’d resent me.” She offered Manny her most charming smile. “This way, I’m Lady Luck.”
Manny cocked his head to one side. “Why not? It beats being known as Fatso.”
Judith stopped short of the bar entrance. “Where did you hear that nickname?”
Manny gazed up into a faux Japanese cherry tree where a mechanical robin hopped among the pink blossoms. “I don’t know,” he said with a wry expression. “Maybe a little bird told me.”
EIGHTEEN
JUDITH AND MANNY sat down at a table next to a small pond where real water lilies floated and live goldfish swam. She decided to let the “Fatso” comment pass. If Micki Mendoza had known about the Internet sobriquet, others in the group might, too.
“I understand,” Judith said, wearing a sympathetic expression, “Griselda is making the arrangements for both Sally and Micki. That must be a relief to you.”
Manny nodded even as he signaled to the waiter. “Grisly’s a big help. Too bad she doesn’t get paid for all her hard work. G & T for me,” he said as the waiter arrived. “How about you, Mrs. F.?”
Judith stayed with a daiquiri. When their orders had been taken, she looked at Manny with a curious expression. “What do you mean, she doesn’t get paid?”
Manny pulled a pack of cigarillos out of his inside jacket pocket. “Do you mind?”
Judith didn’t. Joe enjoyed an occasional cigar, not to mention Gertrude turning the toolshed into a smoke-filled den.
“Grisly’s a volunteer,” Manny explained after lighting up. “She doesn’t want to get paid.”
“How does she survive?” Judith asked.
“She’s rich,” Manny replied, blowing a couple of smoke rings. “I guess her family owns half of Shoshone, Idaho.”
“Hunh.” Judith looked bemused. “I thought the Polsons and the Vanderbehrs were neighbors. Somehow, I figured that they all grew up in small, tidy houses in a small, tidy town.”
“I’ve never been to Shoshone,” Manny said. “But Grisly lived in a big house with hired help. She went to private schools, at least for most of the time. It was Freddy and Sally who were raised as neighbors. I don’t know about tidy, but I got the idea their houses were small and kind of crummy.”
The drinks arrived. Manny raised his glass to Judith. “To you, Mrs. F. You might have started me off on another winning streak.” He took a big gulp, laid his head back against the white scrollwork patio chair, and let out a sigh.
“Good luck to you,” Judith said, taking a small sip from her daiquiri. “You already seem in a much better mood.”
Manny grinned broadly. There was charm, Judith thought, and a hint of danger. Maybe that’s why Sally had found him attractive. But maybe she’d found more danger than she’d bargained for.
“Luck definitely runs in streaks,” Manny allowed, growing more somber. “I consider myself a lucky person. Some people are. ‘Born lucky,’ they say. That’s me. But even a lucky guy can have a run of bad luck. Like I’ve had here.”
“Yes,” Judith agreed. “It must be terrible to lose your wife and your luck at the same time.”
“Maybe they were the same thing,” Manny said with a frown as he took another deep swallow from his gin and tonic. “I was always lucky with Sally around. Maybe my luck’s finally run out.”
For the first time, Judith saw what might be genuine sorrow in Manny’s expression. But whether it was for his wife or his money, she couldn’t be sure.
“No point in talking about the past,” Manny declared. “That’s one of the things about gambling—you lose, you get another chance. You never know when you’re going to hit the big one.”
It was clear that Manny didn’t want to discuss his personal life. Judith didn’t want to talk about a gambler’s life. She steered the conversation back to Griselda.
“I’m puzzled. Why would a wealthy young woman who could afford to attend a good college or university want to be an offstage assistant to a magician? I mean, an illusionist.”
Manny chuckled. “You mean, why would Grisly run off and join the circus?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Judith replied. “Does being associated with an illusionist’s act have the same kind of attraction for young people as a circus does?”
Manny chuckled again, this time adding a leer. “If not the illusion, how about the illusionist?”
“You mean…?” Judith paused.
Manny nodded. “Grisly’s always had a thing for Freddy. Don’t ask me why. But Sally did, too. Who’s to say with women?” He shrugged. “What does a guy like me have in common with a guy like Freddy?”
“You’re both risk takers,” Judith pointed out.
“Huh?” Manny tapped his cigarillo into a petal shaped ashtray. “Yeah, I suppose that’s right. But we don’t look or act alike.”
“Men and women are both attracted to certain qualities beneath the surface,” Judith said. “Love is as much about emotional needs as it is about sex.”
Manny smoothed his silver hair. “I never thought much about it. You know—you see a babe who’s really hot and…” He shrugged again. “Speaking of hot,” he went on, taking a final swig from his glass, “I’d better go see if I still am. Of course, I was winning on your luck, not mine.” He dropped a twenty on the table. “See you around, Mrs. F.”
Judith had barely touched her drink. She scann
ed the other bar patrons, hoping to see someone she knew. But she recognized no one, except for a couple of faces she’d noticed around the casino.
She hated waste. As the daughter of parents who had lived through the Great Depression, and as the wife of a man who had been a poor provider, Judith had learned not to waste things. She didn’t need the drink, didn’t particularly want it, and hadn’t even paid for it with her own money. But leaving the glass almost full was wasteful. Judith took another sip. She should see if Renie was still at the roulette wheel. She should check on Joe and Bill to see how they were faring at baccarat. She should—taking a bigger swallow—call on her mother and Aunt Deb.
Judith did none of the above. Doc Engelman entered the bar before she could make up her mind. To Judith’s surprise, he had Fou-Fou with him.
The bar had become crowded since Judith had sat down with Manny Quinn. It was almost nine-thirty, perhaps the intermission for the cabaret’s talent show. Engelman was looking around for a place to sit with the poodle. He didn’t seem to be having much luck and was about to leave when Judith stood up to call his name.
“Mrs. Flynn,” he said with a small smile. “How are you?”
“Fine. Won’t you sit down?” She noted that the doctor stiffened slightly. “I’m about to leave,” she added hastily. “It looks as if you need some room for Fou-Fou.”
“Well…” He stroked his goatee. “I suppose I could.”
Engelman didn’t have much choice. Fou-Fou had already bounded onto the patio chair left vacant by Manny Quinn. The poodle sat up straight, tongue wagging and panting softly.
“Have you taken charge of Fou-Fou for Mrs. Flax?” Judith inquired.
“Yes,” Engelman replied, sitting down between Judith and the dog. “Fou-Fou had to be walked. I checked in on Mrs. Flax a few minutes ago and she asked if I’d take the dog out for a while. We’ve just returned. Mrs. Flax insisted that Fou-Fou likes a nightcap after her walk.”
“How is Mrs. Flax?” Judith asked as the waiter approached, bearing a bowl of champagne and what looked like a Gibson.
“Much improved,” Doc said, thanking the waiter. Apparently, the staff knew not only Engelman’s preferences, but Fou-Fou’s as well. “She should be up and about by tomorrow.”
“But does she remember anything yet?”
Engelman shook his head. “Sadly, no.”
“Could she have been hypnotized?” Judith asked, trying to ignore Fou-Fou’s loud slurping of the champagne.
“I’m a general practitioner,” Doc responded. “I leave those matters to the psychiatrists.”
Or psychologists, Judith thought, and wondered why she hadn’t pressed Bill into service. “My cousin’s husband might know,” she said. “Dr. William Jones. Bill. You’ve met him.”
“Yes,” Engelman agreed. “Last night, when Ms. Mendoza was found murdered. He seems an able fellow.”
“Very,” Judith said. “Would it be okay if he saw Mrs. Flax and evaluated her?”
“That’s up to Pancho Green,” Doc said as Fou-Fou finished her champagne and began to pant again. “I believe he’s been trying to contact Mrs. Flax’s personal physician in Salt Lake City.”
“Oh.” Judith was disappointed. She might as well finish her daiquiri and be on her way, especially since Fou-Fou was becoming agitated, either from the lack of a refill or by the petals that drifted onto her long, nubby ears. “I should go,” Judith stated, then to be polite, she asked Engelman if he’d lived in the area for a long time.
“We’ve owned our place up here for over forty years,” Doc answered. “When I retired, we decided to make this our permanent home. It’s very peaceful. Usually.”
“Our family’s had property in the area for almost seventy years,” Judith said, then briefly sketched her plans for the new B&B establishment.
“I’ve noticed the construction,” Doc said. “You must be right across the road from the Woodchuck Auto Court. We’re about a quarter mile west, just beyond the big meadow.”
Judith knew the spot. Indeed, she knew the house. “It’s red, with white trim, isn’t it?”
Doc smiled. “It is now, but we need a paint job. This summer, we may go green.”
Judith wished she’d stayed with green for Hillside Manor. The more she thought about it, the less she liked the stark white. A deep blue with a touch of red, or olive and cream. She’d talk it over with Joe. Excusing herself, she left the bar and went in search of her cousin.
Renie was no longer at any of the roulette wheels. Judith headed for the nearest quarter slots in the Spring section. She found Renie at a console, looking content.
“Did you win at roulette?” Judith asked.
“I did,” Renie replied, not looking up. “I won big, then lost three times in a row. I have a rule. When that happens, I quit. I walked away with four hundred and seventy-five dollars. Your money’s in my purse, side pocket.”
“Great,” Judith enthused. “I’ve been drinking with Manny Quinn and Doc Engelman.”
Renie shot her cousin a curious glance. “Are you drunk?”
“Of course not. It was the same drink.”
“Doc and Manny were hanging out together?”
“I drank with them separately. Also,” Judith added, “with Fou-Fou.”
Renie thumped the Credit button. “This machine’s not paying off and you’re not making sense. I think I’ll go see how Bill and Joe are doing.”
“I’ll go with you.”
The cousins found their husbands at the far end of the table games. Joe and Bill sat as if they were carved out of clay. The only movements they made were to place their bets. They neither saw nor sensed their wives’ presence.
“They both have chips in front of them,” Renie noted. “That could be good.”
Judith nodded and yawned. “I don’t know why, but I’m really tired.”
Renie snickered. “Surprise. With all your running back and forth to town and tramping around the resort tracking down homicide suspects, you’ve expended more energy on your vacation than you do when you’re running the B&B.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Judith allowed. “I think I’ll stop by to see the mothers and then go to bed. It’s after ten. If you see Joe when he’s not zoned out, tell him I’ve gone up to the room.”
“Will do.” Clutching her bucket of coins, Renie waved Judith off and headed back to the slots.
As Judith tapped on the door, she realized that both mothers had been far less trouble than she’d feared. Or maybe it was too soon to pass judgment.
“It’s me,” Judith called, inserting the extra key card so that the old ladies wouldn’t have to trouble themselves to admit her.
Gertrude and Aunt Deb were sitting in their wheelchairs, both reading what looked liked the Wall Street Journal. No TV blared, no telephones were in use, and the room was utterly silent until Judith walked in.
“What do you want now?” Gertrude rasped, peering out from behind her newspaper.
“Hello, dear,” Aunt Deb said in cheerful greeting. “You look a bit peaked. Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m a little tired,” Judith replied, plopping down in one of the armchairs. “How are you two?”
“Older than dinosaurs,” Gertrude snapped. “And just as tough.”
“I can’t complain,” Aunt Deb replied, though her tone hinted that she’d really like to. “Don’t worry about me. Where’s Renie? I haven’t seen her since before she went to dinner.”
Judith assured Aunt Deb that Renie was fine. “What are you reading?”
“The paper,” Gertrude retorted. She rattled the pages. “What does this look like? Bedsheets?”
“We’re studying investment possibilities,” Aunt Deb explained a bit diffidently. “It may sound silly, but if we each receive a windfall, we should be prepared. The market is very uncertain these days.”
“I don’t like these high-techy things much,” Gertrude announced. “Those companies don’t even have real names. T
hey all sound like some kind of skin disease—this ‘ex,’ that ‘iva.’ What next, St. Vitus Dance? I want to put my money in businesses with real names, like Ford and AT&T and John Deere tractor.”
“What we need, of course,” Aunt Deb said, “is a shrewd financial advisor. I’m sure that some of these nice graphic-design people will be able to point us in the right direction.”
“That’s very smart,” Judith said, then turned to Gertrude. “You’ve heard from your agent, Eugenia?”
Gertrude nodded. “You bet. She’s ready to pitch.”
It was hard for Judith to understand how her mother could have picked up the movie jargon so easily. Ordinarily, it was a task to get Gertrude to say “vegetable oil” instead of “lard” or to stop referring to the refrigerator as the icebox.
“That’s great,” Judith said, patting her mother’s arm. “How’s the script coming?”
“Script?” Gertrude glowered at Judith. “We’re at the pitch stage, then the treatment, and last of all, the script. Right now, Eugie doesn’t know whether to use my First or Second World War bravery in the pitch. It seems WW Two is big right now.”
Judith was taken aback. “Your world war bravery? Mother, you didn’t serve during either of the wars.”
“What are you talking about, dopey?” Gertrude huffed. “I served in the Red Cross during both wars. Not to mention that your father was an air-raid warden. And I suppose you were too little to remember how Auntie Vance and I chased the burglar out of Deb and Cliff’s basement when we heard him trip over the sandbags they kept down there. Your Uncle Cliff was an air raid warden, too.” She glanced at Deb. “Am I right?”
“Yes, dear,” Aunt Deb replied. “You and Vanessa were very brave. That awful crook might have stolen all my canned goods.”
Judith decided to change the subject. She pointed to her aunt’s copy of the Journal. “Does this mean you’ve decided to take on the job as a consultant?”
Aunt Deb did her best to look embarrassed. “Well, yes. In fact, Wirehoser has already offered me a handsome sum just because I came up with a little slogan for them.”