Major Vices

by Mary Daheim

  They passed through the dining room, where Aunt Toadie was the last to finish breakfast. She glanced up, a scowl on her face.

  “You’re both still here? I thought you’d get a police escort home. Doesn’t your live-in handle parade crowds, Judith?”

  “Only the elephant patrol,” Judith replied, moving on to the kitchen.

  Mrs. Wakefield was scraping plates. “The old bat slept in till nine,” she grumbled. “Where’ve you two been?”

  Judith opted for candor. “Upstairs, going through Uncle Boo’s souvenirs. Do you know if he had a niece on his side of the family?”

  The housekeeper halted, a frying pan in her hand. “A niece? No. Never heard of her. How could that be?”

  “He had an older brother,” Judith responded. “We think the brother had a daughter. She’d be a more serious contender for the family fortune than those men from Mars.”

  “So she would,” Mrs. Wakefield agreed. She chuckled richly. “And wouldn’t that fix old Toadie? Oh, I’d like to see that!”

  “Maybe you can,” Judith said in a mild voice. “Is there a phone in the servants’ quarters?”

  Mrs. Wakefield’s gaze was suspicious. “Yeah, it’s down there in the kitchen off the saloon. Who’re you going to call?”

  Judith assumed a smug expression. “Someone who might know where to find Boo’s niece. We wouldn’t want Toadie and the rest of them to know about her, would we?”

  The housekeeper’s face split into a wide grin. “We sure wouldn’t. Go to it, gals. Oh, if you see Weed, tell him to start cleaning that downstairs stove.”

  The cousins didn’t see Weed, but the reek of marijuana was unmistakable. Fortunately, it dissipated as Judith and Renie explored the downstairs corridors. It took them a few minutes to find the telephone. Compact, efficient, and built to resemble a ship’s galley, the servants’ kitchen undoubtedly had been used for entertaining in a livelier era at Major Manor.

  “It smells wonderful,” Renie remarked, opening the door to the long, paneled room. “Much better than Weed’s joint.”

  Judith stepped into the saloon. Renie was right. The room smelled of pine, in which it had been finished. The windows were designed to look like portholes; ships’ lanterns lined the walls; recessed seats were covered in forest patterns that matched the curtains. The fireplace was huge but empty. It had probably been years since guests had enjoyed the polished dance floor or the well-outfitted bar. The saloon definitely seemed to belong on a luxury liner from long ago, a room where now only ghosts danced in the quiet of the night.

  “Lovely.” Judith sighed. “Dunlop Major knew how to live. A pity his sons didn’t.”

  “Maybe Rube thought excess wasn’t living,” Renie suggested as they went into the kitchen around the corner from the swinging doors of the saloon.

  “It’s not excess so much as comfort,” Judith countered. “This house isn’t an ode to extravagance. It’s just plain…livable. But Uncle Boo didn’t live. He vegetated.”

  “True,” Renie conceded as Judith used the directory to look up the area code for Phoenix. “Gee, I wonder who will really inherit this place. It would make a wonderful family home.”

  Judith nodded, then glanced around to make sure they were alone. From far away came a surprisingly melodious rendition of an old Pete Seeger protest song. It was Weed Wakefield. Judith smiled as she picked up the phone receiver. The model was a modern Trimline, and she was delighted that she could dispense with rotary dialing. The only problem was that there was no response on the line. Judith gave Renie a baffled look. The phone was dead.

  Buck Doerflinger had resumed manning his outpost in the dining room. The doors to the kitchen and the hall were closed. Buck’s men were busy again in the den. They had already taken photographs and removed any evidence. Judith saw the open door and approached Officer Rigby. She asked if the phone on the desk was working. Rigby picked it up.

  “Shucks, it’s dead as a doornail,” he said. “Maybe the line snapped ’cause of the ice.”

  That was possible. Judith glanced back into the entry hall. Renie was coming around the corner, shaking her head.

  “The alcove phone’s out, too,” she reported. “We’re not only marooned, we’re incommunicado.”

  Judith grimaced. But an opportunity was at hand. Having breached the den’s threshold, she strolled into the room.

  “Find anything?” she asked in a friendly tone.

  Rigby eyed her quizzically. “Such as what?”

  Judith shrugged. “A gun, I suppose. It’s got to be somewhere, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe.” Rigby’s fair face was impassive, though his eyes were wary. He signaled to his fellow officers. “That’s it. Let’s go.”

  The Hispanic policeman was grumbling. “This isn’t our kind of work. We’re not homicide detectives.”

  The Asian-American griped, too. “Damned ice. We shouldn’t even be here. I had the weekend off.”

  Rigby smiled feebly. “We’ll get overtime. Besides, it’s good experience. The Bluff’s awful dull. The last call I got before this was about a car that was parked overnight down the street. Big deal. These rich people complain about everything, from stray cats to rubberneckers oglin’ their fancy houses. I can use a little excitement on this beat.” He paused to remove the crime-scene tape from the door. Judith and Renie took the gesture as an all-clear signal, but didn’t move until the policemen were out of sight.

  “It looks pretty tame in here,” Judith remarked, crossing the threshold and gazing around the room. Nothing much had changed since the previous evening. Except, of course, that Uncle Boo was gone. Permanently.

  Mrs. Wakefield, armed with a hand vacuum and a dustrag, entered the den. She shuddered as she crossed to the desk.

  “Creepy, huh? The cops told me I could clean in here, but what’s to do? They went over this place with a fine-tooth comb.”

  Judith was studying the desk. The ashtray had been emptied, but Boo’s brandy snifter still stood at the edge of the leather-bound blotter. There was a scant half inch of liquid remaining. A scattering of ashes floated on the surface.

  Judith frowned. “What did Boo do, use his glass for an ashtray?”

  Mrs. Wakefield leaned over to examine the snifter. “Huh. Crazy old coot.” Sadly, she shook her head. “Poor old coot. I’ll put this in the dishwasher.” At the door, she pointed to the big carton that had held the TV. “I’ll get Weed to take that outside and put it in the recycling bin with that empty box the Rushes brought.”

  As soon as the housekeeper left, Judith closed the door. Keeping on guard, she tried the middle desk drawer. To her surprise, it opened easily. To her disappointment, it held nothing more than ballpoint pens, antacid tablets, rubber bands, a box of cigars, matches, a couple of safety pins, a book of postage stamps, and a handful of paper clips.

  Judith checked the three side drawers to the left; Renie delved into the two deeper drawers on the right. Stationery, envelopes, and notepads filled one compartment. Another was crammed with magazines featuring UFOs, space aliens, and unexplained phenomena. Renie found the household ledgers, which seemed to be in order. Judith turned up the current bills, neatly filed in a folder. The fifth and final drawer revealed personal correspondence, of which there was almost none, except for a stack of Christmas cards. In desperation, the cousins sorted through them, noting names and return addresses.

  “Zip,” Renie declared. “Nobody referring to Boo as ‘uncle’ except the relatives under this very roof, and not a single card from Arizona. Now what?”

  Dejectedly, Judith gazed once again around the den. “There’s got to be something here that will help us. I keep thinking I’ve seen it, or that I should see it. But I don’t know what it is. Crazy as it sounds, if a gun had been found at the scene, I’d vote for suicide. Otherwise, there’s no explanation—and no logic, either.”

  Judith’s concentration was interrupted by Vivvie Rush, who fumbled with the door, dithered her way into the den, and brok
e out with a sob.

  “Oh! How terrible! The death scene! I feel faint!” She teetered precariously, falling against the big carton.

  Dutifully, Judith went to Vivvie and helped her into a chair. “You were…uh, fond of Boo?” she asked.

  Vivvie snuffled, croaked, and fidgeted. “Well, certainly!” Readjusting her wig, she took a deep breath. “Boo and I were especially close. We had so much in common, especially after Rosie and Mo died. Widowed, both of us the very same year, and lonely.” She looked up at Judith, her big blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You can imagine, I’m sure.”

  “I can?” breathed Judith, then suddenly did as she saw the coy expression play over Vivvie’s plump face. “Oh…I see. You and Boo…had plans?”

  Vivvie simpered. “Well, yes, you could say that. We hadn’t set a date, you understand. Boo was the teensiest bit difficult when it came to actually doing things. But we were definitely going together.”

  “Going where?” Renie inquired in a baffled voice.

  Vivvie looked hurt by the question. “Places. Things. You know, dinners. At my house. Here. I was planning a St. Valentine’s getaway as a surprise.” The tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “I’d booked the honeymoon suite at the Cascadia Hotel. Oh, my—I still can’t believe he’s dead! And murdered, too! It’s simply not fair!”

  Patting Vivvie’s shoulder, Judith gazed over the older woman’s head to Renie, who was looking ill at ease. “That’s very sad,” Judith said in consolation. “We had no idea that you and Boo were…so close.”

  Vivvie dried her eyes and sniffed several times. “We kept it to ourselves. You know how Toadie is—she tends to be so critical. And sometimes she meddles. It wouldn’t have done to tell her. Not until we were married.”

  Judith couldn’t dispute the statement. She could well imagine Aunt Toadie’s reaction to her sister’s plans to marry Boo Major. Indeed, an awful thought danced through Judith’s mind. What if Toadie had known?

  “Have you mentioned any of this to Toadie since Boo died?” Judith asked quietly.

  Vivvie shook her head, the wig waggling from side to side. “No. I couldn’t bear to. Not yet.”

  “And Derek?” Judith ventured. “Did your son know?”

  A trembling smile played on Vivvie’s haphazardly made-up lips. “Not exactly. But I think he guessed. He teased me about it. ‘Senior Sweethearts,’ he called us.” Vivvie sighed mournfully, then heaved herself from the chair. She gazed at Judith in gratitude. “You’ve been so kind. I can’t think why Toadie says such awful things about you and your cousin. You must have hurt Trixie’s feelings when you were all children. Toadie is very protective, and Trixie can be so sensitive.”

  “Yeah,” Renie murmured, “like a steel girder.”

  If Vivvie heard the remark, she gave no sign. Suddenly she was a-bustle. “All of this reminds me that I must get the housekeeper to fetch Rosie’s jewels. Not that Rosie ever cared much for them, but they belonged to Boo’s mother. He felt I should have them, of course, and I would have, once we were married. Excuse me, dear hearts, I must scoot along.” Vivvie trudged out of the den, calling for Mrs. Wakefield.

  Renie’s uneasy expression had turned cynical. “Why am I glad I didn’t rush to Mrs. Rush’s side and dry her tear-stained cheeks?”

  “Don’t be so harsh,” Judith said, though she was having a few doubts of her own. “Maybe she and Boo did plan to marry. It would fit his mentality. If he was lonely, why not marry another Lott sister? It’d be easier than going out and meeting somebody new.”

  “True,” Renie allowed. “If that’s the case, it’s a wonder Aunt Toadie didn’t do in Uncle Corky and make herself a widow, too.”

  Renie’s remark was intended to be flippant, but Judith was taking her seriously. “That’s what doesn’t make sense. About this part of the murder,” she added quickly. “I mean, if Toadie had somehow found out that her sister was going to marry Boo, why not bump off Vivvie? Unless, of course, Toadie and Trixie are the genuine heirs and they wanted to get rid of Boo before he did something foolish, such as taking a second wife.”

  Renie gave a faint nod of her head. “That’s true. What we need to find is a will. Or if there is a will.”

  “Toadie said Boo kept all his important papers in here.” Judith made a sweeping gesture of the den. “I’m beginning to think she said that just to make herself feel important. She told me she had access.”

  Renie’s brown eyes grew wide. “To what? Histories of Little Green Men crawling out of the gazebo? Except for the household ledgers, we didn’t find anything important.”

  Judith had to agree. It was possible that Boo Major had hidden his papers in the bookcases, but except for the shelves behind the desk, the glass fronts were locked.

  “I wonder where the key is to those glass doors,” Judith mused.

  Renie’s expression was wry. “On the ring that got misplaced?”

  Judith was about to suggest going through the books in the open case when Vivvie Rush and Mrs. Wakefield hurried into the den. Vivvie looked alarmed; Mrs. Wakefield appeared grim. Weed Wakefield, wearing several Band-Aids on his face, sauntered in behind the two women.

  “That’s a big box,” he remarked, gazing at the cardboard carton. “I’ll have to break it down to get it in the recycling bin.”

  “Then do it,” his wife snapped. “We got other problems.”

  Weed wandered off, presumably to get a knife or some other cutting tool. Streaking to the desk, Mrs. Wakefield all but pushed Judith out of the way. The housekeeper began pulling out drawers, riffling through their contents, muttering under her breath. Aunt Vivvie stood in the middle of the room, both hands clasped to her bosom.

  Jill Rush leaned against the doorjamb. “Lost something?” she inquired in an amused voice. Unlike the rest of the guests, she was wearing a fresh outfit: a cutaway cardigan, a mock turtleneck, and slim leggings in taupe merino wool.

  “Jill, dear,” exclaimed her grandmother, “it’s dreadful! No one knows the combination to Uncle Boo’s safe!”

  Jill shrugged. “So hire a safecracker. If you can’t get one today, wait until Monday. What’s in the safe anyway?”

  Aunt Vivvie’s eyes veered away from Jill to fixate on one of the twin radiators. “Oh—my dear sister’s jewels. We should make sure they’re…ah…intact.”

  Jill laughed. “Aunt Rosie’s jewels? She never wore anything in her life except fake pearls. Didn’t Aunt Toadie give everything away to the Salvation Army about two days after Aunt Rosie died? Except, of course, for the stuff she wanted to keep for herself.”

  Vivvie’s soft face had taken on an uncharacteristic edge. “She didn’t get her hands on Rosie’s jewels. I know that for a fact. Boo showed them to me at Christmastime. You’re right, dear, Rosie never cared for them, but they’re rather nice. Originally, they belonged to Boo’s mother. You’d find them old-fashioned, Jill, dear, but to a woman of my age, they have great charm. Especially the tiara.” Her hand strayed to her wig, as if she were feeling how the bauble would fit.

  Jill darted her grandmother a curious look. The younger woman’s face hardened, but she said nothing and stepped back, as if temporarily withdrawing from the fray.

  At the desk, Mrs. Wakefield was glowering in frustration. “You’d think he would have written the combination down someplace,” she muttered. “He didn’t go out there but once or twice a year. How could he have remembered it?”

  “Out where?” Judith inquired, leaning on the opposite side of the desk.

  In defeat, Mrs. Wakefield slammed the middle drawer shut. “The garage. The safe’s behind that old calendar.”

  “Ah,” said Judith, then fingered her chin thoughtfully. “I don’t mean to be pushy, but sometimes I can figure out combinations.” Seeing the surprised expression on everybody’s face but Renie’s, Judith assumed a self-deprecating stance. “When my first husband and I owned a restaurant years ago, he had a safe there. He was always changing the combination and
he’d forget to tell me, so when he wasn’t around and I had to get at the ready cash, I’d…uh…fiddle…with…the…lock.”

  Renie, who knew that Judith had been forced to crack the safe simply to get enough money to pay for a week’s worth of groceries, turned away. She also knew that on more than one occasion her cousin had found not cash, but tote tickets from the racetrack. Judith had learned a lot of ways to fix tuna fish.

  Aunt Vivvie and Mrs. Wakefield exchanged questioning glances. “Well?” said the housekeeper in her husky voice.

  Slowly, Vivvie turned to Judith. “It’s a great deal to ask, dear,” she said, feigning reluctance. “But it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

  Jill led the way, first stepping aside for Weed Wakefield, who was ambling into the den with a pair of pinking shears. As Judith passed him, he was attempting to cut away one of the cardboard flaps. Buck Doerflinger’s voice roared through the entry hall and bounced off the walls of the den:

  “Stop! Don’t touch that box!” Buck hurtled into the room, pouncing on Weed Wakefield. The detective’s white suit was tarnished and rumpled; his pink face was turning plum. “You’re destroying evidence, you idiot! I’ve solved this case and that carton is the biggest clue of all!”

  TEN

  JUDITH WAS FAR more interested in hearing Buck Doerflinger’s solution to the homicide case than she was in working her magic on Uncle Boo’s safe. But the detective shooed everyone out of the den—except Weed Wakefield. He not only insisted that Weed remain, but ordered Officer Foster to keep an eye on him. As an afterthought, Buck also insisted that Mrs. Wakefield stay behind.

  “Are you nuts?” the housekeeper growled. “Weed isn’t exactly the type who plans ahead. What do you want to nail him for?”

  Buck glared at Mrs. Wakefield. “Let’s start with possession of an illegal substance. We can run right up the scale until we hit Murder One, okay?”

  Mrs. Wakefield’s horrified gasp followed the cousins out of the den.