by Mary Daheim
“Not just that,” Judith replied, again brushing off her hands. “Trace evidence. You know, hair, fiber, anything that can identify the killer. There should be some residue on the bricks and maybe the holes in the wall and the bookcase. Everybody wore long sleeves last night, right?”
Renie allowed that that was so. The cousins trooped back into the house, and as before, Judith went straight to the den. From her pocket she removed the key ring that they had borrowed to get back into the house.
“I think I know which sound came first,” she said, sorting through at least two dozen keys of various sizes and styles. “It was the gun. It had to be. The killer put a load in Uncle Boo’s cigar to confuse the time of the real shot and to provide an alibi. It takes a while for a cigar to burn down, especially if the smoker isn’t puffing on it. Boo puts the cigar in the ashtray, gets shot, and a few minutes later, the cigar explodes. Two noises, right? If the cigar had blown up first, even Uncle Boo wouldn’t sit there like a stuffed duck. He’d have yelled in surprise or maybe even come out of the den. Thus, he must have been dead when the thing exploded.”
Renie acknowledged her cousin’s logic with a grin. “I like it. Now all we have to do is try to figure out who was where when that first noise sounded.”
Judith was trying keys in the locked bookcase on their left. “No easy task, either. Except for Jill’s fairly accurate account of time, you and I have no idea of who went where when. And you can bet the rest of them won’t remember—or won’t tell.”
“Not even Derek?” asked Renie, then finally gave in to her curiosity. “What are you doing? Are the jewels in that bookcase?”
“No,” Judith answered, finally making a match of key and lock. “The jewels are in Mason Meade’s bandages. The bookcase is sheer guesswork. Here, coz,” she said, handing a large volume to a startled Renie, “brush up your Shakespeare.”
The familiar printed-will form was found at the beginning of The Merchant of Venice. “Will,” Judith said as Renie unfolded the legal-sized document. “The one Will we overlooked was Shakespeare, because he was in the classics section. I should have thought of it sooner, since Shakespeare’s own will has been a subject of controversy for centuries.”
“Ever the librarian,” murmured Renie, scanning the first of two pages. “Who did Shakespeare leave everything to?”
Judith grinned as she looked over Renie’s shoulder. “Mainly his daughter, Judith. That’s how I remember it so well.”
In this version, the formal passage that identified family members did not include any in-laws. According to the handwritten portion, Bruno Major’s family consisted of his late brother’s daughter, Ruth Helga Major, and any heirs of her body. It also included Jill Andrea Rush Major, his lawful wife. Under disposition of the estate, Boo did give, devise and bequeath unto Jill Andrea Rush Major the sum of one million dollars. The remainder of the estate was left to Ruth Helga Major. The document was dated February 6. It was witnessed by Arthur L. Peterson and Patrick J. O’Brien.
“Wow!” breathed Renie. “This was made the day before yesterday! Who do you suppose these witnesses are?”
Judith was still frowning at the document. “The masons?” She stared at the addresses, which were handwritten below the signatures. “If only we had a phone, we could call and ask them about this.”
“Now they’ll have to find Ruth Major,” Renie said, a note of excitement in her voice. “Imagine inheriting all this money from out of nowhere! Won’t she be thrilled?”
Judith, however, wasn’t joining in her cousin’s excitement. “I wonder,” she muttered under her breath.
“What do you mean?” asked Renie.
Judith gave an impatient shake of her head. “I don’t know what I mean. This final will—and it has to be final unless Boo came into the den last night to make out yet another—bothers me. Why leave everything to the niece and a measly million to Jill?”
“A million isn’t measly to me,” Renie remarked.
“You know what I’m saying.” Judith glanced out the small window next to the open bookcase. The street was quiet. Shadows were inching across the lawn, as the sun disappeared behind dark clouds. “This strikes me as odd,” she declared, slapping the will with her hand. Disconsolately, she sank into one of the side chairs.
Renie sat down in its mate. “Well, odd or not, there it is. Why not tell me about the stolen jewels instead?”
Judith didn’t seem very interested in the theft. “It had to be Mason Meade. Vivvie probably had blabbed to the rest of the family and Trixie told him about the jewels. Who else would bother to steal them? The family members all thought they were going to get everything anyway. But Mason was an outsider. How would you like to count on Trixie for your bread and butter?”
“So he’s a crook?” Renie grimaced. “I thought he was into concrete.”
“He is,” Judith replied, gathering momentum. “But maybe his business is in a hole. It was started by his father, but he died, and now Mason and his sister have taken over. I don’t know about the sister, but does Mason strike you as bright?”
Briefly, Renie considered. “Not really. But he could still count on Trixie and her expectations.”
“Maybe,” Judith allowed. “But Trixie isn’t exactly a work in fidelity. She says she was making a phone call last night, supposedly to Marty. But we know she wasn’t. Now, who do you suppose she was trying to reach?”
“Oh, good heavens,” cried Renie in exasperation, “I have no idea! Her cosmetic surgeon?”
Judith smiled feebly. “Not a bad guess. But I’m voting for that offensive lineman, Biff Kowoski. He was tall, dark and dumbsome, which is how Trixie likes them. Never mind his wife, Myra—Biff probably doesn’t mind her, either. We know all about Trixie’s track record, which reads like a handicap sheet for Sluts R Us.”
Renie chortled. “So Trixie was making a late date. Or something. Maybe Mason wasn’t too stupid to figure it out.”
“Could be. In any event, he managed to crack the safe, the combination of which I’ll bet was indeed Uncle Boo’s birth date. Mason would know that, of course, because of the party. It’s what I was going to try first. He grabs the jewels and takes off in Trixie’s Lexus. Unfortunately, along the way he meets a lamppost.”
Renie was looking bemused. “So how do you figure he managed to hide the loot in his bandages?”
Judith gave a shake of her head. “I don’t know how he did it, but when Aunt Vivvie accidentally sat down on him, she felt something poke her in the rear end. ‘Stabbed,’ was the word she used. It went right by me at the time, but then we got to talking about Auntie Vance and Marty’s alligator. I was reminded of Vivvie. Bandages shouldn’t ‘stab’ anybody. So what was under them? A tiara?”
“No wonder Mason didn’t want to stay in the hospital.” Renie chuckled. “And he didn’t want Zoe changing his dressings.”
“Right.” Judith got up and went to the window again. “Drat. Still no sign of that damned tow truck. They must be hauling cars all over town. I suppose a lot of people got stuck on the freeway last night. I sure hope Althaus called the B&B. It’s past five o’clock.” Judith rubbed anxiously at her forehead, then tensed. “Here comes the Cadillac.”
Renie got out of the chair to join Judith at the window. “There’s only one person in it. Can you see who it is?”
“No,” Judith answered. “But we’ll find out soon enough.”
The big car stopped briefly in the drive to wait for the automatic garage door to open. Then the Cadillac slipped inside. The middle door closed. Judith turned to Renie, an odd expression on her face.
“Think back on your love life, coz. Who was the girl in the Cascadia Hotel elevator with Cousin Denny?”
The cousins had moved into the living room. They were freshening their drinks when Zoe Wakefield walked through the arched doorway. Her auburn hair had come undone from its copper clips and her skin was pale. She seemed surprised to see Judith and Renie sitting side by side on the long so
fa.
“Hi,” Judith said with forced cheer. “We’re still waiting for a start. Or a tow.”
“You can borrow the Cadillac,” Zoe said, taking off her jacket. “I don’t need three cars.”
“That’s okay,” Judith answered in an agreeable voice. “We’ve waited this long. Another few minutes won’t hurt.”
Noting the cousins’ highball glasses, Zoe uttered a mirthless laugh. “I could use a drink. Maybe I’ll get myself some wine.” She headed out for the kitchen.
Renie poked Judith. “All I remember is that she had freckles,” Renie whispered. “Curves, too. Egad, it’s been nearly forty years! I’ll bet Denny doesn’t remember!”
Judith didn’t respond. She sat on the sofa, rocking slightly and waiting expectantly. Zoe reappeared, a glass of white wine in one slim hand.
“Where are your parents?” Judith asked in a conversational voice.
Zoe sat down in the sea-green armchair. “They released Dad on a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bond. It took forever to raise the ten percent. My mother must have spent an hour on the phone, but she did it.” Zoe took a deep sip from her glass.
Judith had stopped rocking and had edged forward on the sofa. “Where are they now?”
Zoe’s expression was wary. “Dad wanted to chill out. But not here. I dropped them off uptown. Maybe they’ll check into a hotel for the night.”
“They can’t go far,” Judith said, a note of warning in her voice. “Your father is under arrest. Surely you must know where they’ll be staying. The police will have to be notified.”
Zoe’s eyes, which looked amber in the lamplight, grew very wide. “But I don’t know. They didn’t tell me.”
“Maybe we’d better find out,” Judith said briskly. “We’ll borrow that Cadillac after all and go use a pay phone.”
Zoe shrugged. “Go ahead. The keys are in the garage. You can’t miss them—they’ve got the Cadillac emblem. I’m going downstairs to bed. I’m beat.”
Judith frowned. Something was wrong. She remained seated on the sofa, with a puzzled Renie at her side. “Zoe, wait. I’ve got a question for you. It’s really important.”
But Zoe wasn’t about to wait. Her languid air had long ago deserted her. She struggled to her feet in an almost clumsy manner. “Please. Don’t harass me. I’ve had all I can take.”
Judith also stood up. “Hold on, Zoe, this is absolutely essential.”
Zoe’s eyes glinted oddly. “You mustn’t try to stop me.” Doggedly, she headed for the entry hall.
“What are your parents’ first names?” Judith’s question cut like a cleaver.
Zoe not only didn’t turn around, but kept on going. “Dad’s real first name is Clark,” she called out in a toneless voice. “‘Weed’ is just a nickname.”
Judith and Renie exchanged quick glances. “And your mother?” Judith shouted.
But Zoe had disappeared into the dining room.
“Now what do we do?” Judith asked anxiously.
Renie was also on her feet, gazing through the window next to the fireplace. “Go home?” She gestured toward the street.
The AAA tow truck had just pulled up at the curb.
It took less than five minutes to start Judith’s blue compact. As the engine hummed, Judith waved her thanks to the AAA emergency crew and put the car into reverse. Moments later, the cousins were going down the steep hill that had held them prisoner at Major Manor. Near the bottom, they saw the damaged lamppost, bent at a forty-five-degree angle.
“You think Zoe did it?” Renie finally asked as they drove through The Bluff’s tasteful shopping area.
At the four-way stop, Judith looked ruefully at Renie. “Everything points that way.” Abruptly, she pulled into the parking lot of a large drugstore. “There’s a pay phone. I’m calling the cops.”
Renie dutifully waited in the car. Judith was inside the phone booth for almost five minutes. When she emerged, her face was grim.
“Well?” said Renie.
“They put me through to Buck Doerflinger. Damn all.” Judith turned the keys in the ignition, reversed out of the parking lot, and headed, not for Heraldsgate Hill, but back toward The Bluff.
“Now what?” demanded Renie.
“Joe’s about to go off duty. I told Buck to have Detective Flynn meet me at Major Manor. It took some doing, but I convinced him I knew something more about the Mayor’s cousin. Buck still doesn’t realize I’m Mrs. Flynn.”
Renie gave Judith a sidelong look. “And are you?”
Judith snorted. “I said as much, before God and man. I’m stuck with the jerk, aren’t I?”
“I guess.” Renie noticed that her cousin didn’t seem unduly alarmed at the prospect.
Judith expected the worst. Guilt washed over her as she stood in the outside stairwell next to the back porch of Major Manor. No one responded to her loud knock on the basement door to the servants’ quarters. She regarded Renie bleakly.
“We never should have left. Whatever Zoe intended to do, she must have done it.” Judith put a hand to her forehead and swore softly.
“The key ring,” Renie said suddenly. “Haven’t you still got it?”
“Oh!” Judith felt in the pocket of her jacket. “How could I not have noticed!” She held up the collection of keys, then hurriedly tried to find the one that fit the basement door.
Judith called Zoe’s name as they made their way down the narrow hall. The house seemed to echo. Except for the loden coat, the brass hooks were naked, mute testimony to the departure of the Wakefields. Even the marijuana odor had faded away. The basement smelled damp, and vaguely like a sheep.
Judith checked the rooms on the left side of the passageway; Renie looked into the ones on the right. Neither cousin showed much enthusiasm for the task.
They peeked into the furnace room and the coal bin, then moved on to the galley, where the stove was still pulled out from the wall. Next door, the guest bathroom was also empty. At last they reached the saloon. But Zoe wasn’t there, either.
Judith uttered a sigh that was half relief, half frustration. “I don’t get it,” she said under her breath, then sank down into one of the saloon’s recessed alcoves. As before, the scent of pine hung on the air. “I had it all figured out—logically. Somehow, Zoe slipped out of the house while she was cleaning up from dinner. Probably she went through the door to the garage that goes from the hall.Otherwise we’d have seen her go out via the back way, or down through the basement, or into the garage by the door from the kitchen. She shot Boo and then raced back inside. But everything backfired on her. Weed was suspected of killing Boo, and while Zoe may be a killer, she’s obviously very fond of her father. More so, I’d guess, than she is of her mother. Weed’s ideals have made a deep impression on the girl.”
Renie was gazing up through one of the small windows which looked out onto a concrete wall. The leaded panes offered light, but no view. Like the rest of the basement, the saloon was set deep in the ground.
“I’m not following you,” Renie admitted. “Weed’s ideals are typical of his age and era. His type isn’t much interested in money, only in the equal distribution of it.”
Judith gave an abrupt jerk of her head. “I know, I know. That’s why I figured Zoe was overcome with remorse. Not only had she betrayed her father’s principles, she’d gotten him arrested. Gruesome as it sounds, I expected to find her dangling from a rope or succumbing to an overdose of sleeping pills. But she’s gone.”
“We haven’t looked upstairs,” Renie pointed out with a grimace.
“True,” Judith agreed, getting up. “Let’s search the rest of the house. I don’t think we’ll find her, though. Zoe would do herself in down here, where she lived. Maybe,” she added without much spirit, “we should check the garage, too.”
The cousins headed for the basement stairs. Judith suddenly stopped, staring at the loden coat. She felt the fabric, then sniffed.
“This thing’s damp. It also smells like a sheep.” Ju
dith clapped a hand to her head. “Oh, my God! I’ve been an idiot!”
“At times,” Renie replied in a calm voice, though her eyes narrowed at Judith. “Now what?”
Judith was already running up the stairs. “The garage! I’ll bet the grocery money that Zoe’s gone!”
The Ford certainly was. The Rolls and the Cadillac stood side by side, looking smug, like two beauties at a party who’ve finally managed to ditch the Ugly Duckling.
“Okay,” said Renie, “now give me your revised edition of this sorry story.”
“It’s simple,” Judith responded eagerly. “All along, I’ve tried to equate the kind of murder with the murderer’s personality. This was carefully planned, though there was a surprise element, namely the—”
Outside, a horn honked impatiently. Judith and Renie hurried to the garage doors. “It must be Joe,” Judith said, trying to figure out how to open the doors from the inside. “Shoot, I wonder what trips the automatic locks.”
The horn sounded again. Unable to find the mechanism that opened the doors, the cousins hurried through the garage, into the kitchen, and out the back door. Judith expected to see Joe’s battered but beloved MG at the curb, but instead, they found a big blue Chevrolet.
“Bill!” Renie shouted. She waved in a frantic gesture, started across the lawn, then stopped. “Coz! What shall I do? It’s nearly six o’clock! Bill must be hungry!”
“Then feed him.” Judith shrugged, well aware of the ulcer-prone Bill Jones’s need to eat promptly. “Joe will be along any minute.” In the gathering darkness, she, too, waved at Bill. He saluted stiffly.
Renie, however, was hesitating. “I don’t know…maybe we should wait until Joe gets here.”
Judith was adamant. “Get going. Nobody’s here but me. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll go sit in my car.”
“Do that,” urged Renie as Bill gave one long toot of the horn. “And call me. I can’t wait to hear the rest of the story.” She jumped into the Chevy, barely getting the door closed before Bill tromped on the gas.