Legs Benedict

by Mary Daheim

  “Ah.” Roland gave the pictures one last look. “Then I’ll be joining you at six for the informal get-together?”

  “That’s right,” Judith replied. “Though I don’t actually mingle. I think it’s intrusive. Guests seem to do better on their own when it comes to getting acquainted.”

  Roland du Turque concurred. After he had bowed her out of Room Two, Judith hurried back downstairs. Although it was only five-thirty, Pam and Sandi were in the living room where Renie had poured them each a glass of white wine.

  “We’re having a hot talk about toilet training,” Renie said, getting up from one of the two matching sofas in front of the fireplace. “Now that our three kids can finally go to the bathroom on their own, I wanted Pam and Sandi’s advice on how to get them to clean the toilets.”

  “They should be old enough to read the instructions on cleaning materials,” Pam said, now very serious. “Many of those compounds are highly dangerous.”

  “Pam’s right,” Sandi put in. “How old are your kiddies?”

  “Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, and twenty-six,” Renie answered with a straight face.

  Sandi covered her mouth with her hands and Pam broke into giggles. “No! We’re not much older than that!” cried Pam.

  “Older, younger,” chanted Sandi, reaching across the sofa to slap hands with Pam, “bigger, smaller, shorter, taller, inside we’re all the same!”

  Happily, Judith heard the doorbell. She hurried off to the entry hall, and found Mr. and Mrs. John Smith waiting on the porch.

  “Just pulled in,” said John in a marked New York accent. “We drove all the way from Montana today. It started raining the minute we crossed the mountains, but it’s stopped now.”

  “The weather’s like that around here,” said Judith. “Very changeable.” Guardedly, she studied the pair. John Smith was tall, rangy, and in his mid-forties. He had restless hazel eyes and a manner that suggested he was always on the alert. The suit he wore looked very expensive to Judith, perhaps an Armani, though there was a foot-long tear in the left pant leg.

  Mrs. Smith, who also struck Judith as tense, was clad in a deep blue silk wrap skirt and a scoop-necked blouse. She was above average height, pretty in an artificial way, and no more than mid-twenties. Judith began to wonder if Renie’s earlier suspicions were correct.

  “This is the wife,” John asserted, as if he could read his hostess’s mind. “Meet Darlene, Mrs. Flynn.”

  Darlene offered Judith a limp hand and a bogus smile. “Pleased to meetcha,” she murmured.

  “Yes, of course,” Judith stammered. “Now if I could show you…”

  John waved a bony hand. “We’ll manage. Just tell us the room number.”

  “It’s Room Three, but I wanted to explain about the…”

  “Later,” John broke in. “Come on, Darl, let’s go.” He picked up one of their two large suitcases and headed upstairs, his movements surprisingly graceful. Darl followed with another bogus smile for Judith.

  Hearing a dull thump on the front porch, Judith went to fetch the evening paper. As she opened the door, she saw one of the middle Dooleys, O. P., for St. Oliver Plunkett, wheeling away on his bicycle.

  “Thanks,” she called, waving the paper.

  In front of the Rankerses’ house, the fair-haired teenager glanced over his shoulder. “Sure, Mrs. Flynn,” O. P. called back.

  The diversion caused O. P. to lose control of the bike, which went over the curb and directly into the path of an oncoming car.

  “O. P.!” Judith screamed. “Look out!”

  The car, which had been going very slowly, was able to stop in time. O. P. righted his bike in the middle of the cul-de-sac, took a deep breath, and gave Judith a mortified grin. “That was close,” he shouted.

  “It was my fault,” Judith said in a shaky voice. “I shouldn’t have yelled to you. You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” O. P. replied, pedaling back toward the sidewalk. “But I need to deliver the Rankerses’ paper.”

  “It’s a good thing nobody goes fast in this cul-de-sac,” Judith said, then became aware that someone was calling to her from the car that had just missed O.P. Turning, Judith saw that the Ford Explorer bore Illinois plates.

  “I said,” the pudgy woman in the passenger seat mouthed slowly, as if Judith was an idiot, “where’s a place to stay?”

  “Oh!” Judith hurried to the car. “Sorry, I was distracted. I’m afraid I caused our newspaper carrier to lose control of his bike.”

  “This is one confusing neighborhood, especially with all these stupid hills,” the woman complained. “Do you know…?”

  Judith interrupted. “Yes, Hillside Manor is the light tan house with the dark green trim on the other side of the laurel hedge. I own it. Do you need a reservation?”

  The woman exchanged glances with the man at the wheel. “Yeah,” she responded. “You got room for us?”

  Judith nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, we had a cancellation. Park in front of the car from New York next to the driveway, and come right on in.”

  The woman and the man exchanged another glance. Maybe, Judith thought, they think I really am a moron. She could hardly blame them.

  Renie was just taking her leave of the teachers. “Did I hear another scream?” she asked in a slightly bored voice.

  Judith explained about the bike, and the newcomers from Illinois. “You usually aren’t around when the guests arrive,” Judith added as Renie headed for the back door. “How come you’re not rushing home to get dinner?”

  “Believe it or not,” Renie said, grabbing her purse from the kitchen table, “Bill is cooking tonight. If he can find the stove, he may have another new hobby.” The screen door swung behind Renie.

  The couple from Illinois was in the entry hall, along with their luggage, which consisted of a foldover, a large suitcase, and some kind of satchel.

  “Malone,” said the middle-aged man, holding out a beefy hand. “I’m Mal and this is the wife, Bea. You got room for maybe a couple of nights?”

  “I do,” Judith said, offering the Malones a gracious smile. “You’ll be in Room Six. And you’re just in time for the appetizer hour.”

  “Appetizer hour?” Mal’s leathery face screwed up in contempt. “What happened to the cocktail hour?”

  Judith cleared her throat. “I don’t serve guests hard liquor at Hillside Manor,” she said in her primmest voice. “It’s a matter of insurance, not to mention legality.”

  “Hunh.” Bea’s jowls jiggled as she gave a disapproving shake of her head. “What kind of a state is this, anyway? Don’t you folks out west have fun?”

  “Upon occasion.” Judith still sounded prim, but felt a bit foolish. “Now if you’ll sign in, I’ll show you your room. I do serve sherry, however, along with the appetizers.”

  “Sherry!” Mal was scornful. “What kind of fruitcake drink is that?”

  “Shut up, Mal, sign the damned thing,” Bea ordered, tugging at the elastic waistband on her brown polyester pants. “I want to put my feet up for a few minutes. It’s been a real rough day.”

  Mal’s leathery features softened. “You’re right, kid. It’s been a bitch. How much?” He pulled a worn leather wallet out of his back pocket.

  “Eighty dollars, which includes tax,” Judith replied.

  “Eighty bucks! No booze! Sheesh!” Mal counted out four twenties and gave them to Judith. Then he put on a pair of thick glasses and bent over the registry. It seemed to take him a long time to get around to signing his name.

  “You full up, you said?” asked Mal, putting his glasses away.

  Judith nodded. “Yes. The last of the reservations arrived just a few minutes before you did.”

  Again, the couple exchanged glances. “The Smiths,” Mal said in a noncommittal tone.

  “How did you know?” Judith asked in surprise.

  Mal shrugged his broad if somewhat rounded shoulders. “That’s the name on the line above us.”

/>   “Oh,” Judith responded in a small voice. “I thought perhaps you knew them.”

  Mal drew back as if he’d been insulted. “Hell, no. Not those Smiths. Sure, I know some Smiths. Who don’t? Why should I know these ones?”

  “Well…No reason,” Judith said with an apologetic smile. “I mean, I thought maybe you were traveling together. We often get friends or families who come by car and…”

  “So which room?” Mal broke in. “Us, that is. I see they’re in Three.”

  Somehow unsettled by the comment, Judith hesitated. In the living room, she could hear Pam and Sandi, singing some of their children’s songs to the tune of the baby grand. Judith hoped they’d have the good sense to shut up when the other guests began arriving for the appetizer hour.

  Which, she realized, as Roland du Turque came down the stairs, was upon them. “I’ll be right back,” she informed Roland. “The sherry and juices are already on the gateleg table.”

  “Sheesh!” Mal muttered. “Juices! You got a decent saloon around here?”

  “Yes,” Judith replied, starting up the stairs. “There are two nice pubs on top of the hill, and several excellent restaurants, including the Hexagon, although it caters mostly to the young.”

  “Pubs?” echoed Mal, puffing a bit as they reached the second floor. “The young? I’m talking about a place where you can tie one on.”

  “Try the bottom of the hill,” Judith said between clenched teeth. “There are several bars down there.”

  “Hills!” exclaimed Bea. “Where’d all these blamed hills come from? I thought this city was on the ocean.”

  Opening the door to Room Six, Judith shook her head. “We’re on the Sound. The ocean is a hundred miles away.”

  “Hunh.” Bea pulled at her tan mock turtleneck. “This sure isn’t what I expected. We’re from Chicago, we got a big lake. No hills. But plenty of saloons. Right, Mal?”

  “Right.” Mal was surveying the lilac chintz decor. “Jeeesus! This ain’t like no motel I ever saw!”

  “It’s not a motel,” Judith said crisply. “It’s a B&B. Would you prefer a motel?”

  Abruptly, Mal turned to face Judith. “Huh? No, this is just the ticket. A B&B. Right, Bea? And Bea! Ha-ha!”

  Bea laughed, though without mirth. “Yeah, Mal, a B&B. That’s where we want to be. Ha, ha.” She sounded sarcastic, even bitter.

  Judith rushed through the usual information, including the shared bathroom with Room Five. “They’re honeymooners,” she added. “They’re very…sweet.”

  Bea made a face. “We were honeymooners—about two hundred years ago. We went to Lake Winnebago so Mal here could fish.”

  “Didn’t catch much, either,” Mal said, more to himself than to Judith or his wife.

  “You sure didn’t,” Bea responded with a trace of acrimony.

  Judith decided it was time, perhaps past time, to take her leave. “I’ll see you downstairs,” she said, nipping through the door.

  The Smiths were just coming out of their room. Judith gave them a cheery smile. “I’ll have the hors d’oeuvres out in five minutes,” she promised.

  “Don’t worry about us,” John said, the roving hazel eyes checking out the second-floor hallway, the stairs, and the partial view of the entry hall. “We’re going downtown for dinner. You got any recommendations?”

  Judith did, not only personal favorites, but a collection of reviews she’d clipped and copied from newspapers and magazines. “My husband and I prefer the Manhattan Grill in the financial district,” Judith informed the Smiths as they reached the first floor. “Since you’re from New York, you might enjoy one of the seafood establishments with a view. We like Andrew’s by the ferry dock or the Bayshore, which is at the foot of the bluff and overlooks the harbor.”

  “They sound swell,” John responded, now eyeballing what he could see of the dining room and living room. None of the other guests were visible from that angle, but Judith could hear the piano. The children’s songs had somehow evolved into classic jazz.

  “Do you need directions?” Judith asked as the Smiths started out through the front door.

  “Naw,” John replied, a hand on Darlene’s shoulder. “We’ll manage.” The couple left.

  Judith rushed to the kitchen, retrieved the hors d’oeuvres from the refrigerator, and punched in numbers on the microwave. While the crab puffs and miniature lamb kabobs heated, she got out an oval platter for cheese and crackers. Five minutes later, she was balancing the serving dishes in both hands, and announcing that the food had arrived.

  So had Barney and Min Schwartz, who were engaged in conversation with Pam Perl by the bay window that overlooked the harbor. Sandi Williams was standing by the piano, while Roland du Turque continued to play a jazz medley.

  “Thelonious Monk,” Judith said in a worshipful tone as she approached the piano at the far end of the long living room. “‘Round Midnight.’ ‘Criss Cross.’ And…” She cocked her ear, then smiled broadly. “‘Epistrophy.’”

  His hands still plying the keys, Roland smiled back. “You’re a buff.”

  Judith pointed to the built-in stereo system and storage space on the other side of the bay window. “I have several of Thelonious Monk’s recordings, mostly old LPs. I think I discovered him before the rest of the world did, back in the early fifties.” Judith laughed aloud. “I remember telling my Auntie Vance I wanted one of his records for my birthday. When I didn’t get it, Auntie Vance said that nobody at any of the music stores had records put out by the Loneliest Monk.”

  Roland chuckled, a deep, rich sound that somehow was in harmony with the notes he was playing. “They found out soon enough who that fine musician was.”

  Judith nodded in agreement, and was about to add more of her jazz memories when Mal and Bea Malone entered the living room. Reluctantly moving away from the piano, she approached the couple from Chicago.

  “I thought you were going out,” Judith said, wearing her innkeeper’s smile.

  “We are,” Bea answered, reaching for the appetizers. “But we thought we’d grab some snacks first. We’re paying for ’em, aren’t we?”

  The Malones weren’t the first rude guests to stay at Hillside Manor, which, if she had to be candid, was why Judith preferred not joining in during the social hour. Her training as a bartender at the rough-and-tumble Meat and Mingle had inclined her to react strenuously to bad-mannered visitors. In the first three months of her tenure at Hillside Manor, Judith had threatened to break the punch bowl over a foul-mouthed guest’s head, called the cops on a couple trying to set the lace curtains on fire, and thrown a woman who had attacked Sweetums with a butter knife into the Rankerses’ hedge. She still marveled how she’d managed to stay in business, but assumed the perpetrators were too embarrassed by their behavior to talk about it. Thus, Judith merely inclined her head at Bea Malone, despite the fact that Mal was scooping up half the crackers and cheese.

  “Where’s everybody else?” Mal asked, stuffing a handful of crackers into the pocket of his windbreaker. “I thought you were full up.”

  “I am,” Judith replied. “Here come the Santoris now.”

  Pete and Marie descended the stairs arm-in-arm. Mal and Bea both turned to stare, then exchanged yet another glance. Indeed, Judith thought that Mal had given a faint shake of his head.

  “You sure this is all of ’em?” Mal asked as the newlyweds approached the gateleg table.

  Judith offered the pair a smile. “One of the parties went out for dinner,” she replied, then grabbed the hot appetizer plate and presented it to the Santoris.

  “The Smiths,” murmured Bea.

  “Yes,” Judith said as Marie oohed and aahed over the selections. “The Smiths.”

  Mal tugged at Bea’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

  “Sure,” Bea responded, filching two puff pastries from the plate. “We might as well.”

  After the Malones had left the room, Marie nudged Pete. “Will we be like that in twenty years, Tickles-wickles?
”

  Pete grimaced. “I hope not, Googley-woogley.”

  Judith said nothing. It wasn’t appropriate to criticize guests in front of other guests. As she set the serving plate back down, she saw Joe Flynn come through the swinging doors between the dining room and kitchen. He looked annoyed, and was motioning to Judith.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, hurrying around the big oak table that had belonged to her grandparents.

  “Some jerk just flipped me off in the driveway,” Joe said, keeping his voice down. “Kind of a burly guy, maybe a little younger than I am. The woman with him was pretty burly, too.”

  Judith gave Joe a quick kiss, then heard the squeal of tires outside. “The Malones, of Chicago,” she whispered. “Not my favorite type of guests. Why did they flip you off?”

  Removing his lightweight summer blazer, Joe shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess he thought I was going to run over them when I pulled into the drive.”

  Joe usually took off his jacket and holster in the back hallway, but the incident with Mal Malone had changed his routine. With alarm, Judith noticed the holster and shoved Joe back through the swinging doors.

  She was too late. Barney Schwartz had come into the dining room. He saw the gun in the holster, let out a yelp, and grabbed Judith around the waist.

  “If you shoot,” Barney yelled, using Judith as a human shield, “the broad with the striped hair gets it! My number isn’t coming up yet!”

  Judith’s heart sank and Joe’s jaw dropped.

  But Barney Schwartz’s hold remained in place.

  THREE

  “TAKE IT EASY,” Joe said, keeping his voice calm. “I’m not going for the gun. Let go of my wife. Nobody has to get hurt.”

  Judith tried to wrestle her way out of Barney’s grasp. “Please, Mr. Schwartz,” she implored, “you mustn’t be afraid. My husband is a policeman.”

  Barney’s grip tightened. “Oh, yeah?” he responded. “Back off, creep. I mean business.”

  Joe held himself in check. “I’m an off-duty policeman. Let go of my wife, or I’ll be forced to call the neighborhood patrol car.”