by Mary Daheim
It occurred to Judith that Rosalinda Lott Major might have been too capable. Perhaps her overwhelming efficiency had stripped Boo of whatever self-reliance he had possessed.
Renie was buttering her second roll. “I assume the corporation would keep paying the premiums, so there’ll be insurance money. It’ll go to the estate, though,” she added with a frown.
Aunt Vivvie grimaced. “The estate! What good is that? Martians! What will they want with my tiara?”
Holly entered the dining room, her delicate features careworn. “This is the most awful weekend I’ve ever spent,” she declared, pulling out a chair next to her mother-in-law.
Vivvie deterred her with a soft, plump hand. “Holly, dear, would you fetch my antacid from my purse? My stomach is so upset.”
Dutifully, Holly retreated. Judith used the opportunity to ask Vivvie about Boo’s brother, Rube. “I didn’t realize he had a brother,” Judith said in a conversational tone. “Did you ever meet him and his family?”
Momentarily distracted from her own troubles, Vivvie kneaded the linen napkin and turned reflective. “I must have, at Boo and Rosie’s wedding. I know Reuben was there, because no one expected him to come and his arrival was something of a surprise. But my, it’s been nearly forty years! And so much strong punch!” She paused, then sadly shook her head. “I honestly can’t recall. Perhaps Toadie would remember.”
Judith tried a slightly different tack. “He had a wife, I hear. And a…daughter?”
Vivvie brightened. “Oh, yes! Ramona—I do remember her now! Quite plain, but she had a way about her. Freckles all across her nose, and the liveliest eyes. Very outgoing.” Under the curling fringes of the wig, Vivvie’s forehead creased. “That’s strange—I can see her so vividly, yet I don’t recollect Reuben at all.”
“Was she…German?” Judith asked.
Vivvie’s mouth went round in surprise. “Why, no, she was perfectly normal. An American, I mean, just like you and me.”
“And their daughter?” Judith prompted as Holly hurried into the room with a roll of Tums.
Vivvie tapped her lips. “Hm-mmm. Their daughter…no, she doesn’t spring to mind, either. The punch, you know. So mind-fuddling.” She gave a dejected shake of her head and popped a Tums in her mouth.
Judith wasn’t quite ready to give up on Vivvie. “Boo didn’t speak of his brother much, I take it?”
It was Holly who answered. “Personally, I never heard him mention the brother. But then, I didn’t marry into the family until some years after Rube and his wife were killed in that car accident.”
Renie was going for seconds on the creamed chicken. “Surely,” she said, oblivious to the puddle of cream sauce that had landed on her sweatshirt, “Boo and Rosie must have kept track of their niece?”
Vivvie and Holly exchanged mystified looks. “I don’t think so,” Vivvie said at last, then made a piteous face for Holly’s benefit. “Dear, would you mind getting me a glass of water? That Tums doesn’t want to go down by itself.”
Holly went out through the door to the kitchen just as Derek and Jill came in from the hall. Derek’s long face was still dark with rage; Jill seemed remarkably calm.
“A court of law will decide this matter,” he announced, as if his mother and the cousins had been waiting for him to speak. “Uncle Boo, bless him, must have been suffering from hardening of the arteries. He certainly wasn’t in sound mind when he made that last will, and he was probably almost as unbalanced when he wrote the other one.”
“Ha!” shouted Trixie, who was standing on the threshold. “You wish! Then why not say he was crazy as a bedbug when he made out the will that left everything to you?” With a smirk, she sat down at one end of the table. “Think about it, Derek. I wouldn’t count on some senile old judge saying Uncle Boo was…senile.”
Derek threw Trixie a black look, then stared at his empty plate. “It would be better if he’d never made a will at all,” he murmured. “That way, we would simply divide the estate among his natural heirs.”
Having finished gorging herself, Renie had shifted into her perverse mode. “That could take a while. You’d have to make a search for Boo’s niece.” Noting Trixie’s startled expression, she smiled blandly. “Reuben’s daughter. Boo’s blood relation. Gee,” Renie went on in a musing voice, “since she’s on his side of the family, she’d get all of it. What a thrill that would be for her!”
Trixie’s face had grown blotchy with high color. Judith wondered if she was verging on apoplexy. Derek, on the other hand, was quite pale. Aunt Vivvie started to twitter, but Jill remained composed.
“Nobody,” Trixie began, panting just a bit, “knows…anything…about her. She may be…dead.”
Renie wasn’t done with taunting Trixie. “Why should she be? From what I can tell, she’d be about your age, Trixie. Early, mid-fifties.”
Trixie screeched, then leaped from her chair, leaning in Renie’s direction. “I’m nowhere near that old! Why do you and Fatso here always pick on me?”
“Fatso?” Judith bristled. “Listen, Trixie, I’ll bet I don’t outweigh you by more than ten pounds! At least all of me is real!”
“As if you and Bugs Bunny here couldn’t use mega-improvements!” Trixie huffed, strutting a little to show off her augmented body. “Some of us care about our personal appearance. It’s a measure of self-esteem.”
Renie wasn’t impressed. “I’ll say one thing for you, Trixie—getting all those nips and tucks for your sags and bags didn’t detract from the character in your face. You’ve never had any.”
Trixie’s mouth worked at a frenzied pace, but nothing came out. She whirled away from the table and fled the dining room. Derek’s malevolent gaze followed her.
Jill emitted a little snort. “I guess Trixie doesn’t like creamed chicken. I think it’s kind of tasty.”
Judith gave an absent nod of agreement and rose from the table. “I’m skipping the ice cream,” she said, then caught herself. “I’m not dieting. I’m just…full.”
In the entry hall, she encountered Aunt Toadie, heading for lunch. Judith would have preferred passing on without comment, but Toadie stopped her. The older woman’s face was stiff with resentment.
“I’ll never forgive you for interfering,” she said in a harsh voice. “Why couldn’t you have left well enough alone? If there’s one thing I cannot abide, it’s a meddler!”
After the countless squabbles and endless insults of the past eighteen hours, Judith was getting numb. Instead of offering a sharp riposte, she merely sighed. “I wanted to help all of you. It wasn’t my fault that Boo made multiple wills.” Hoping to extricate herself, she gave Toadie a bleak smile. “It’ll all work out. You know what Grandma Grover used to say—it’ll all be the same a hundred years from now.”
The irony was lost on Toadie. “Your grandmother and her platitudes! Oh, she was a fine one to give advice! Telling me how to cook for Corky and offering her useless old German recipes! And sewing clothes for the children! Did she really think I’d let Trixie and Marty and Cheryl run around in homemade garments looking like hobos?”
Since Grandma Grover’s delicious meals and Grandma Grover’s homemade dresses and Grandma Grover herself were treasured memories to Judith, Toadie’s cutting remarks triggered yet another explosion. “What a wicked thing to say!” Judith fumed. “Grandma had terrible arthritis and it was hard for her to sew clothes for all the grandchildren. But if she made pinafores for Renie and me, she made them for the rest of the girls, too. And overalls for the boys. As for her cooking, you and Uncle Corky would show up for every holiday with your kids and your mother, and not only did you never lift a hand to help, but never once did you bring so much as a jar of peanuts! Rosie and Boo and Vivvie and Mo and the whole damn lot of Lotts would come sometimes, too, and you were all a bunch of freeloaders!” Judith stopped for breath, certain that Toadie would interrupt. But she didn’t; she stared at Judith as if she were watching a natural phenomenon, like an erupting volcano.
“As for meddling, that’s all you ever do! This,” Judith went on, her voice rising as she waved a hand around the entry hall, “is a perfect example. You’ve been trying to run Boo’s life ever since Rosie passed away. Why, you were interfering right up until the day he died, firing those masons just so Trixie’s shady fiancé could get the contract!”
At last Toadie responded, her eyes narrowed and her jaw jutting. “That’s nonsense! I did no such thing! How dare you accuse me of…everything!” She shook a fist at Judith, setting her charm bracelets a-jangling.
But Judith wasn’t finished. “It seems you were the one person who checked on Uncle Boo last night while he was in the den. I presume he was alive and well.”
Toadie’s rage diminished only a jot. “Of course he was alive and well! But I didn’t go in. I merely asked through the door if he needed anything. He didn’t. So I left.”
“What time was it?” Judith’s question was phrased in a sharp tone. She was still incensed by Toadie’s slur on Grandma Grover.
“I don’t know,” Toadie shot back, her temper again rising. “Who do you think you are, asking such questions?” In a fury, she flounced off, not to the dining room, but to the main-floor bathroom. Still fuming, Judith hoped Toadie was going to be sick.
The living room was blessedly empty. Or so Judith thought until she heard Mason Meade moaning on the sofa. Apparently Trixie and Derek were still at logger-heads over who took precedence in the master bedroom. Indeed, it seemed to Judith that the next occupants were likely to be a couple of tourists from Uranus. Unless they made reservations first at the B&B, which wouldn’t happen if they heard Hillside Manor’s hostess served mush for breakfast.
Still feeling peckish, Judith went to the window to check the weather. The fog was definitely lifting, but as far as she could tell, the ice remained on the walkway and the small patch of street that was visible from inside.
“I can’t sleep. I’m in pain.” Mason Meade’s voice was thin and plaintive.
Judith wandered over to the sofa. “You should have stayed in the hospital. In fact,” she said, taking her crankiness out on Mason, “you never should have left this house in the first place. Whatever possessed you to try to get down that horrendous hill?”
Mason averted his eyes, which were about the only exposed parts of his body except for his nose and mouth. “I had an appointment this morning,” he replied in a waspish voice. “I didn’t want to miss it.”
“Well, you certainly didn’t miss that lamppost.” Judith’s tone was prim. She sounded as if she were chiding a raucous library patron. Taking in Mason’s obvious misery, she softened her expression. “I’m sorry, I feel edgy. Tell me, Mason, what is your business?”
Trixie’s fiancé stopped whimpering. “Concrete. Foundations, mostly, though we do some paving. We’re over on the east side of the lake. My sister and I inherited the company from my father. He started out as a bricklayer.”
Judith raised her eyebrows. “You do brickwork, then?”
He offered a feeble smile. “Sometimes. I wanted to change the name to Mason’s Masonry, but my sister didn’t like it. She thought I was being conceited. So we kept the original name, Eastside Concrete. My first wife owns a third of it now.”
Judith perched on the arm of the sofa, careful not to disturb Mason’s inert form. “You seem to have quite a bit of family in the suburbs,” she said lightly. “Is that where you met Trixie?”
Mason shifted the arm that wasn’t in a sling. A cup of tea sat on the floor, seemingly untouched. “I met her at the Lexus dealership right before Christmas. She was buying herself a present.” He grew morose. “And now I’ve totaled the car. I’ll bet she hasn’t made more than two payments.”
Judith wasn’t sure what a new Lexus cost, but she guessed it to be in the forty-thousand-dollar category. Such a high-priced automobile was out of her league, even with Joe’s salary and the B&B earnings combined. She wondered how much Trixie made selling Wear-House Dressing fashions.
“She must have insurance,” Judith pointed out. “It’s a state law.”
With difficulty, Mason gave a nod of his bandaged head. “Oh, sure, but that car was a custom job. She wanted all the extras and some special features. As I said, it was her Christmas present to herself.”
Judith’s estimate went up another ten grand. She began to wonder if she was in the wrong business. Being a Wear-House Dressing rep must be more lucrative than she thought.
“Have you and Trixie set a date?” she asked, getting off the unhappy subject of the smashed Lexus.
He gave another laborious nod. “June. Trixie always gets married in June.”
“So she does.” Dimly, Judith recalled the first wedding, in a fashionable suburban church. Number Two had been held in the ballroom of a lakeside hotel. The third time around, the nuptials had taken place on the stage of Rafe Longrod’s downtown movie house. Judith wondered if Trixie and Mason planned to be married inside a concrete mixer, but she had the good taste not to ask.
Zoe reappeared, vacuum cleaner at the ready. Mason caught sight of the appliance and winced. “Oh, no! Do you have to turn that on? I have a concussion!”
The maid gave an indifferent shrug. “Then plug your ears. You’ve got enough gauze and stuff taped to your head anyway. How can you hear?” Curious, she approached the sofa and inspected Mason more closely. “You should have some of those dressings changed, if you ask me. Where’s your ever-loving fiancée? She ought to be taking care of you.”
Mason seemed moved by Zoe’s show of concern. Or, thought Judith, he was not immune to her considerable charms. The masses of auburn hair were caught up with a pair of copper clips; the blue jeans were snug at the hips and cinched in at the waist; a sea-green shirt set off her eyes, which shone like green gold in the wan winter light.
“I scraped my arm,” he said in a pitiful voice. “The one I didn’t break, I mean.”
Dispassionately, Zoe examined the bandages. Judith noted that the maid was right—not only was the gauze loose, but it was soiled with dried blood.
Zoe abandoned the vacuum cleaner. “I’ll go downstairs and get the first-aid kit. If your future bride can’t bring herself to fix you up, I will. I’m used to it. Dad’s always wrecking himself.”
She had just left when Jill sauntered into the living room. She nodded at Judith and Mason, then sat down at the piano bench and began to play “Jailhouse Rock.” Judith wasn’t sure whether or not she imagined that Mason winced again.
“Blast!” Jill exclaimed, breaking off in mid-bar. “This thing is so off-key it drives me nuts!” Getting up from the bench, she stalked to the front window. “When will they all leave?” she muttered, more to herself than to Judith and Mason.
Judith pounced on the cue. “You’re not leaving?”
Deliberately, Jill turned to look at her. “No. I didn’t intend to leave in the first place.”
Deserting her perch on the sofa’s arm, Judith went over to where Jill was standing. “I didn’t think you did.” She gestured at Jill’s attire. “You brought a change of clothes. Several, in fact.”
Indignation was quickly supplanted by defensiveness. “So?” Jill’s perfect features hardened. “Why shouldn’t I? Boo was all alone here. I’m almost twenty-one. Why should I go on living at home, listening to my father give me orders and having my mother fuss over me all the time? I want to be independent.”
Judith kept her response reasonable. “Did Boo like the idea of having you move in?”
“Of course he did!” Jill had raised her voice, all but shouting. “He was lonely, I tell you! He loved having me around! I put new life into this place! It’s been a tomb since Aunt Rosie died!”
Surprised by Jill’s vehemence, Judith noted that Mason also seemed to be regarding the young woman with a certain amount of puzzlement. At least he had turned his head a jot, and his eyes veered in Jill’s direction.
“Actually,” Judith said in a measured tone, “it wouldn’t have been a bad ide
a. What did your parents think about it?”
Jill sniffed and tossed her head. “I hadn’t told them. We…I didn’t want to cause a row on Boo’s birthday.” She had lowered her voice and was looking sulky. Fleetingly, Judith glimpsed the vulnerable young girl she remembered from long-ago family gatherings.
At that moment Zoe returned with a first-aid kit large enough to cure an industrial complex. “It would be better,” she asserted, opening the double locks on the steel case, “if we did this upstairs. The living room isn’t exactly the place for medical treatment.”
“It’s just my arm,” Mason said with a note of panic. “The rest of me is fine.”
“The rest of you is a mess,” Zoe declared, sorting antiseptic pads, tape, gauze, cotton, and a pair of small scissors. “If the dressing on your good arm is this bad, I can imagine what the bandages on your body are like.” She glanced up at Judith and Jill. “Do I have a volunteer?”
Judith hesitated; Jill floundered. They were rescued by Renie, who bounded into the room glaring at her cousin.
“Where’ve you been? The ice cream has pecans. I can’t eat nuts.” She saw Zoe ministering to Mason. “Hey, what’s going on? Brain surgery in the privacy of your living room?”
But Mason was rebelling. “Don’t touch me! Never mind my arm! Go away, or I’ll sue! Help!” His good leg kicked at the afghan someone had thrown over his recumbent form.
Zoe jumped to her feet. “Well, phooey on you! I thought you wanted me to help! Screw it!” She tossed the medical supplies back in the steel case, slammed it shut, and stomped from the room. Mason fainted.
Judith hoped it was from relief.
And then she wondered why.
TWELVE
MRS. WAKEFIELD WAS threatening to quit. “Over twenty years we’ve worked for Boo Major—and Mrs. Major, too, which wasn’t always easy—and now this!” Wildly, she waved her hands, indicating the entire ménage that inhabited Major Manor. “Murder, mayhem, robbery, rivalry, wills, and more wills! And worst of all, that big dumb cop who thinks Weed is a killer! If ever there was a man less likely to do somebody in—except by accident, and that would be himself—I can’t imagine! It’s just plain loony!”