Major Vices

by Mary Daheim

  Judith started for her Stanza, then realized she still had the key ring in her pocket. Going around to the back porch, she let herself in. Maybe I should leave a couple of lights on, she thought. Moving to the entry hall, Judith switched on the ship’s lantern over the front porch. She decided to keep the chandelier in the living room burning, too.

  On her way out, she placed the key ring on the peg by the back door. From force of habit, she checked the stove to make sure it was off. A noise which seemed to come from the entry hall made her pause with her hand on the kitchen light switch. Someone must have entered the house through the front door.

  Judith knew she should leave at once. Her brain told her to take the two steps to the back porch, but her feet wouldn’t obey. Whoever had come in wasn’t necessarily the killer. Indeed, it flashed through Judith’s mind that she had already been wrong once about the murderer’s identity. Could she have made two mistakes? As if frozen to the spot, she craned her neck, to watch a furtive figure cross the entry hall.

  “Trixie!” Judith gasped. “What are you doing here?”

  Trixie seemed equally surprised. Her face was haggard and she carried a grocery bag in her left hand. “I…I forgot something. We left in such a hurry,” she added lamely. “Why are you still here? Where’s Serena?”

  “She’s gone,” Judith replied, edging away from the back door. “Joe’s coming. He should be here any minute.”

  Trixie looked blank. “Joe? Joe who?”

  “My husband,” Judith snapped. “You seem to have ignored our wedding invitation.”

  “Oh. When was it?” Trixie’s eyes were darting around the kitchen; the knuckles on the hand that clutched the grocery bag turned white.

  “A year ago last June,” Judith answered, her mind racing along other, more frightening lines.

  “June?” Trixie’s eyes grew wide. “I think I got married around that time, too. Rafe, you know.”

  Judith remembered that the Rafe Longrod nuptials had taken place the year before her own wedding, but she could hardly expect Trixie to keep track. “How did you get in?”

  “Mother has a key to the front door.” Trixie saw Judith’s curious reaction and hastened to explain: “In case something happened to Uncle Boo and one of us needed to rescue him. The Wakefields might be gone. You never know. But she only had the house key. I mean, why would she need anything else?”

  “Why indeed,” Judith echoed. “So what did you forget?” she inquired in what she hoped was a casual tone.

  Trixie frowned. “A bracelet? My mother’s bracelet,” she said, suddenly smiling. “Yes, the silver charm bracelet. You know how much she likes it. I’ll go hunt for it now.” Her smile widened, but it never went past her nose.

  Trixie all but ran from the kitchen. Judith watched her go through the dining room and into the entry hall. But Trixie didn’t head for the living room or upstairs. Instead, she turned into the passage which led to the garage. Judith’s expression grew thoughtful.

  She almost didn’t hear the footsteps on the basement stairs. It was the husky voice that caused her to turn around. Unlike Trixie, Mrs. Wakefield didn’t seem surprised to see Judith.

  “What’s up?” the housekeeper asked, running a comb through her graying red hair. Except for a few lines of fatigue on her face, the arduous day hadn’t seemed to affect Mrs. Wakefield’s spirits. “I noticed your car had been moved. I saw it parked on this side of the street when I pulled into the garage.”

  Judith laughed lightly. “It’s a long story. Where’s Weed? Where’s Zoe?”

  Mrs. Wakefield was at the refrigerator. “Weed’s in search of grass,” she replied in a disgruntled voice. “I tried to stop him, but it’s never any use. Zoe knew where he’d be, so she came looking for him. That girl’s wasting her time trying to change her dad. She told me to take the Ford and go home. I figured I might as well. They may be gone until tomorrow.”

  “You’re staying on?” asked Judith.

  The housekeeper had taken a roll of turkey breast from the refrigerator. She used a sharp knife to cut paper-thin slices. “Nobody’s fired us yet. We don’t know who really owns this place, do we?” She gave Judith a sly smile. “This will, that will—I say it’s not over yet.” Mrs. Wakefield chewed lustily on a piece of turkey.

  “It’s certainly not,” Judith replied evenly. She glanced through the kitchen window. It was now dark, and a pair of headlights had cruised up to the curb in front of the house. Judith was sure she recognized Joe’s MG. “In fact,” she went on, feeling a sense of relief as well as elation overcome her, “it’s far from over. Isn’t that right, Ruth?”

  Mrs. Wakefield’s reaction was delayed. She was complacently devouring another mouthful of turkey when her eyes narrowed. “Ruth? Where do you get off calling me Ruth?”

  Judith shrugged. “It’s your name, isn’t it? After all we’ve been through in the past twenty-four hours, you don’t mind if I call you that, do you? Go ahead, I’m Judith.”

  The housekeeper’s chunky hand tightened around the handle of the butcher knife. “Who told you my name was Ruth?”

  Discreetly, Judith tried to determine if Joe was approaching Major Manor from the front or the back. He had parked halfway between the main entrance and the back porch. She hoped he would choose to come in through the kitchen. But, of course, he wasn’t as familiar with the floor plan as she was.

  “You’re Reuben Major’s daughter,” she said in a quiet tone. “I’m guessing that Boo—and Rosie—hired you and Weed as a favor to Rube. Old Dunlop had cut Rube out of his will, not because he was a German sympathizer—far from it; he was an American hero—but simply out of sheer pigheadedness. Dunlop might have understood your father’s wanderlust—he should have, since he had some of it himself—but he couldn’t forgive him for cutting loose from the family. Dunlop dies, so does Rube, and somewhere in there, you show up on Boo’s doorstep with a small child. Say what you will about both him and Aunt Rosie, they were good-hearted. No doubt you were down on your luck due to Weed’s politics and pot, which, given the late sixties, were often one and the same. Boo and Rosie take you in, give you jobs and a home. The debt is paid. Which,” Judith continued, straining to hear any sound that would signal Joe’s arrival, “is why that last will is all wrong.”

  Mrs. Wakefield blinked, but her eyes didn’t leave Judith’s face. “What will?”

  Judith was growing uneasy. How long did it take to cover the distance from the street to the house? “The one in the Shakespeare book. The forged will, with the masons’ signatures. What did you tell them they were signing—a time sheet for their severance pay?” Noting the startled expression on Ruth Wakefield’s face, Judith knew she’d guessed right. “For once, Toadie told the truth. She really didn’t fire the masons—you did. And you shot that poor building inspector, too.”

  The housekeeper took two steps forward, brandishing the knife. “Aren’t you the clever one! It’s a good thing the cops hire dopes like that Doerflinger instead of people like you! But if you think you’re going to blab all this and get me arrested, you’re as crazy as the rest of them!”

  The knock sounded at the kitchen door. Judith’s eyes darted in that direction. Joe Flynn’s outline could be seen through the frosted glass.

  “It’s the police,” Judith said through taut lips. “You’d better let him—them—in.”

  The slip proved costly. Mrs. Wakefield grabbed Judith, twisting an arm behind her. “March! I can handle one cop just fine! Open that door, and if you do anything stupid, I’ll slice you like that turkey roll!”

  Starting to tremble, Judith obeyed. She flung open the door. Joe Flynn was smoothing his red hair and his round face was smiling. His hand dropped and his smile died when he saw the knife against Judith’s throat.

  “Get in here,” ordered Mrs. Wakefield. “Close the door.”

  Wordlessly, Joe did as he was bidden. His green eyes flashed as he quickly surveyed the kitchen. Judith knew he was assessing their chances. She
wondered if he’d called for backup. Probably not, since he couldn’t be sure why Judith had summoned him to Major Manor.

  “Interesting,” he said at last, leaning lightly against the kitchen counter. “One knife, two victims. How does that work?”

  Judith couldn’t see Mrs. Wakefield’s face, but she could hear the grim humor in her voice. “Easy. I’ve got another gun stashed in the drawer next to the flour bin. Mrs. Flynn and I are going to mosey over there and get it. Any false moves from you and she gets blood all over my nice, clean floor.”

  “I don’t suppose,” Joe said, his mellow voice deceptively lazy, “anyone would care to tell me what’s going on here. I understood an arrest had already been made.”

  It wasn’t easy for Judith to talk with the knife pressed against her throat. She was sure that if she moved at all, the blade would cut into her flesh. “Buck,” she said in a strangled voice. “He was wrong.”

  “What else is new?” Joe’s eyes were now riveted on the hand that held the knife. “Who are you? It’s always nice to know your local homicidal maniac.”

  “Funny man,” Mrs. Wakefield sneered, nudging Judith in the direction of the cupboards. “If you’re a cop, you can figure it out. She did.” The housekeeper gave Judith’s arm a little twist; then she let go to reach for the drawer handle.

  If Judith had thought the moment’s distraction would give Joe his chance, she was wrong. The housekeeper didn’t miss a beat. The knife never wavered. Deftly, Mrs. Wakefield pulled the gun out from under a pile of twine, aluminum foil, and used paper bags.

  “It’s loaded, in case you’re wondering,” she said, flipping the knife into the sink. “Move it!” Giving Judith a sharp shove, she propelled her toward Joe. “You City Hall types sure are a pain,” she said with a nasty chuckle. “All my plans almost undone by that snooping building inspector! I couldn’t believe it when he told me there were loose bricks in the den wall. As if I didn’t know! He insisted it was shoddy workmanship. I was tempted to let him go on thinking that, until he started filling out a stupid report.”

  Judith was rubbing her sore arm. “You must have had to act fast,” she said, her voice breathless. “How did you manage to shoot him and not have somebody see or hear it?”

  Mrs. Wakefield snorted. “I asked him to come have a look at the bricks down by the pond to see if they could be used on the house. Quality control, I called it. Meantime, I’d gotten the Walther out. Weed was puffing away, Zoe was running the vacuum, and old Boo—what else? He was asleep. The masons were on their lunch break. I shot the guy and pushed him in the pond; then I took his keys and drove the city car down the street a couple of blocks. In this neighborhood nobody ever comes outside this time of year, and the rest of ’em are out of town, chasing the sun. I figured I’d get rid of the guy later, after everything quieted down.”

  “Everything, including the surprise revelation about the latest will?” Judith asked, amazed that her voice didn’t come out in a squeak.

  Mrs. Wakefield nodded, a cunning smile playing at her lips. “As will happen, excuse the pun. It could take weeks, even months—what difference does it make? I’ll still get it all, except for that measly million that goes to Jill.”

  “And you’d let your husband pay for your crimes?” Joe’s career in law enforcement had made him cynical, but nonetheless, Mrs. Wakefield violated his basic concept of justice.

  Mrs. Wakefield sneered. “That dope of a Doerflinger couldn’t have made his case stick. The charges would’ve been dismissed. I said so all along.”

  Judith dared to ask one more question. “How did you know about the marriage?” She wondered if she dared try to edge closer to Joe.

  “That was a lucky stroke,” the housekeeper replied. “The building inspector insisted on meeting old Boo first. He was already half asleep, but I introduced them. Afterward, the guy tells me he recognized him—saw Boo down at City Hall taking out a marriage license with some young trick. I called down there and found out he’d gotten hitched to Jill. That’s why there had to be a new will. The Space Alien version wouldn’t have been any good as long as Boo had a wife.”

  Momentarily, Judith lost her fear. “You forged that one, too?”

  Mrs. Wakefield shook her head. “Oh, no. I didn’t have to. I talked Boo into it. No sweat; he liked the idea of leaving the money to himself.”

  It was Joe’s turn to be startled. “Himself?”

  Mrs. Wakefield’s laugh was gusty, but her gaze never moved from Joe and Judith. “The American Society for Sighting and Studying Alien Beings Outside Ourselves? The first letters spell out TASSABOO! ‘Tass a Boo’—that was my father’s nickname for his brother!”

  “Wait a minute!” Joe didn’t seem fazed by Mrs. Wakefield’s sudden two-handed grip on the gun. “I don’t get it. Who is this woman?” His question was directed at Judith.

  “Ruth Major Wakefield,” Judith responded, swallowing hard as she saw the housekeeper take aim. “Rube Major’s daughter. Rube and Boo were brothers. Rube and his wife are dead, so Ruth and her daughter, Zoe, are Boo’s only blood relations.” Beyond Mrs. Wakefield, Judith saw Trixie tiptoeing across the main hall. Judith had forgotten that the other woman was still in the house. Whatever Trixie had been doing in the past several minutes, she’d exercised the greatest of stealth. Knees weak and chin trembling, Judith tried to say something, anything, to make Trixie understand what was going on. The housekeeper’s back was turned; Trixie couldn’t see the gun.

  “Once I knew that a Ruth Major existed,” Judith blurted out, her voice uneven, “I knew somebody had a serious motive for killing Boo. Toadie and Vivvie might have seen you at Boo and Rosie’s wedding, but you were just a kid. As with most of us, thirty or forty years can make a big difference. Anyway, Vivvie is muddleheaded and Toadie is self-absorbed. You could count on them not to recognize you.” She faltered briefly as panic seemed to overtake her. “But Renie remembered a freckle-faced teenager at the reception.” Now frantic, Judith forced herself to all but shout: “I knew the killer must have red hair!”

  Halfway through the dining room, Trixie froze. Mrs. Wakefield’s keen ears heard the soft footsteps behind her; she turned ever so slightly. Trixie had already crouched and started to spring. With a snarling yelp, she leaped across the floor—and dove straight at Joe Flynn.

  EIGHTEEN

  THE GUN WENT off, narrowly missing Judith. The bullet lodged in one of the cupboards. Mrs. Wakefield took aim again, but Judith had thrown herself at the housekeeper. Off-balance, the second shot hit the floor. So did Joe and Trixie. Fighting for her life, Judith grabbed the arm that held the gun, fingernails clawing into flesh.

  “Let go!” Joe shouted at Trixie, finally delivering an openhanded slap to her cheek. “I’m a cop!”

  Trixie stumbled backward, holding her face. “But…you’ve got red hair!”

  Joe had pulled his own weapon. “Hit the deck!” he ordered Judith.

  Judith, however, wasn’t inclined to let go. She could feel the housekeeper weakening. The gun went off a third time, striking the ceiling. Bits of plaster fell over the combatants. Judith used her knee to knock the wind out of Mrs. Wakefield. The other woman sagged, groaned, and collapsed on the floor. The gun rolled harmlessly from her hand to lie on the linoleum next to Trixie’s foot.

  “You’re right,” Trixie said in wonder, still rubbing her cheek. “She does have red hair. But it’s going gray. She ought to touch it up.”

  Joe removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt. Expertly, he locked them on Mrs. Wakefield, who was making small, whimpering noises. “I need backup,” he said, yanking his radiophone off his belt. He spoke rapidly into the unit, then flipped it off and turned to Trixie. “Do I know you? Should I?”

  “Maybe at Christmas…” Judith began, panting a little.

  Trixie gave Joe a coquettish look. “If we met, I can’t believe I wouldn’t remember. I’m Trixie Bellew, and you’re a real tiger.” She wasn’t wearing her false eyelashes, but that didn’t
stop her from fluttering away at him.

  He searched in vain for a notebook. “Damn! I must have dropped it in the car! Find one for me, will you, please?” he asked a bit curtly of Trixie.

  Trixie, however, was inclined to linger. She put a hand on Joe’s shoulder and purred provocatively. “You play kind of rough, Mr. Policeman. I like that. How’s your rubber hose?”

  Judith marched over to Trixie and slugged her on the other cheek.

  Zoe Wakefield was crying. No amount of white wine or words of consolation could comfort her. Joe stood in front of the marble fireplace; Judith sat with Zoe on the sofa. A miffed Trixie had departed half an hour earlier, swearing she would never speak to Judith—or Joe—again. Mrs. Wakefield had been taken into custody a few minutes later. Zoe had shown up in a cab just as the squad car pulled away.

  “Dad’s going to take this very hard,” Zoe sniffed. “Once he comes down from…wherever he is.”

  “I feel terrible,” Judith confessed, trying to console Zoe. “There were so few suspects who were…uh…qualified to commit this kind of crime. It was very clever and well thought out. Trixie is cunning, but totally disorganized. Toadie was a definite possibility, yet she’d have blown it somewhere along the way. Vivvie is too addled. Jill lacks the courage and Holly hasn’t got any nerve. Derek seemed the most likely of the family members, but his grief was genuine. He’s no actor. In fact, he has trouble showing emotions of any kind.”

  Zoe blew her nose. “I knew about Rube Major, but I never guessed we were related. Dad has his pride—he’s probably ashamed that we had to accept charity in the form of working for his wife’s uncle. Imagine! All along, Mom should have had half of this! But would it have made us happy?” One of Zoe’s hands fluttered like a dying bird. Judith started to interject a comment, but Zoe continued speaking. “I never dreamed Mom was related to Boo. Oh, I knew her first name was Ruth, but that didn’t mean anything. I had no reason to learn her maiden name. Dad didn’t believe in the capitalist-based principles of public education, so he home-schooled me. And I didn’t ever have to fill out a job application, because after I grew up, I worked here as the maid.”