Legs Benedict

by Mary Daheim

  Marie looked up from her place next to Pete on the sofa. “Don’t you live near Detroit, Barney? How about that Motown sound?”

  “The Supremes were okay,” Barney acknowledged. “But that was a long time ago.”

  Roland cleared his throat. “Historically, the Motown sound—specifically, Motown Records—was important because their artists’ popularity created a new enthusiasm for so-called black music and consistently put their songs on the best-seller charts.”

  “Really.” Pete sounded bored. “Is the coffee ready yet?”

  “Not quite,” Judith answered as Roland quietly moved the length of the living room and sat down at the piano. Seeing him at the bench reminded her of the piece of paper she’d found the previous night. “Did anyone misplace some notes?” she asked.

  “Notes?” Roland fingered a chord. “What kind of notes?”

  “Just…names,” Judith replied. “On a slip of paper that had been torn out of a small spiral notebook.”

  “What were the names?” asked Marie, looking faintly disturbed.

  Judith had left the paper on her dresser. “I don’t recall exactly. I think one of them was Hoffa.” She uttered a feeble laugh.

  “Hoffa?” Barney echoed. “What about him?”

  “We don’t know any Hoffas,” Mal declared.

  Bea, who had recovered from her bout of tears, gave a disgusted shake of her head. “Heck, no. Wasn’t he some kind of union crook?”

  “Teamsters,” said Pete. “Hoffa disappeared several years ago. He was probably murdered.”

  “Tough,” Mal grunted, then scowled at Judith. “He wasn’t staying here, was he?”

  Before Judith could utter an indignant denial, she saw Phyliss Rackley standing in the entrance to the living room. The cleaning woman’s sausage curls were practically standing on end and her face was a bright pink.

  “I quit,” she said, and stalked back into the dining room.

  “Phyliss!” Judith rushed after her. “Wait. Let me explain…”

  But Phyliss was vehemently shaking her head. “Godless doings, murder, blood lust, pillage, and the Lord only knows what else. I tell you, it’s that cat. He’s in league with the Evil One.”

  “Phyliss, please.” Judith tried to take the cleaning woman’s hand, but she yanked it away.

  “Don’t add lies to the list of sins. I can’t be around such infamy. Who knows, I could be next. That cat is always trying to put me under a spell. He wants me to do bad things, like fornicate and tap dance in short skirts.”

  “Phyliss…” Judith felt depleted. “Okay, let me write you a check.” She led the way into the kitchen. “Who would you recommend as a replacement?”

  “Replacement?” Phyliss seemed taken aback. “I’d never let anyone I know work here. This is Babylon, Sodom and Gomorrah, a den of iniquity. Better watch out, all you who enter here.”

  “All right.” Judith feigned indifference as she started to write a check. “I’ll look in the classifieds, especially the Heraldsgate Hill weekly. It comes out tomorrow. Thanks, Phyliss. ’Bye.”

  “What?” Phyliss squawked. “Thanks? Goodbye? After all these years?”

  Judith assumed a puzzled expression. “You want severance pay? A tip? A going-away gift?”

  “Well…” Phyliss’s weathered face was a mass of consternation. “No. No, ’course not. I just thought…well…maybe you might be able to save me.”

  “Hmm.” Judith concealed a smile. “And all these years, I thought you were trying to save me.”

  “I don’t mean that way,” Phyliss said, waving a bony hand. “I mean, from Satan and all these other evil-doers.”

  Judith sighed. “Are you saying you might consider staying on?”

  Phyliss’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Well…the Good Book says we’re to be tested, doesn’t it? Isn’t this a test?”

  If so, thought Judith, I’ve passed a few already, but not always with flying colors. “Life is a test,” she replied. “I don’t blame you for being frightened, Phyliss. This is a scary situation. But except for its having happened on our property, it has nothing to do with us.”

  Nothing to do with us. Judith had heard that phrase before, several times, from different mouths. Her guests seemed eager to disassociate themselves from the crime. Judith could hardly blame them.

  “I suppose,” Phyliss began, tugging her housedress down over the telltale signs of her slip, “I could at least start cleaning. But don’t let that cat near me,” she warned.

  “You were late today,” Judith remarked, putting the checkbook back in her purse. “Was something wrong?”

  As ever, it was a loaded question. “Wrong?” Phyliss fanned herself. “You bet. I had to call for the doctor. I thought I was heading straight to meet the Lord.”

  “Did the doctor come?” asked Judith, feigning interest.

  “No.” Phyliss shook her head. “But he told me how to cure myself. I put my head in a grocery sack, called on the Lord, and the next thing I knew, it was a miracle. I could breathe again.” The cleaning woman offered Judith her most beatific smile.

  “You were hyperventilating,” Judith said.

  “What? I was dying, that’s what I was doing,” Phyliss said with her own brand of tattered dignity. “Couldn’t catch my breath. Awful. A step away from the Pearly Gates.”

  “I’m certainly glad you’re better,” Judith said in her most sympathetic tone. “I won’t keep you, Phyliss. We’re running behind this morning, for all sorts of reasons.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Phyliss responded, and headed for the back stairs just as Renie came into the kitchen.

  “She’s gone?” Renie, who had no patience with either Phyliss’s hypochondria or her evangelizing, let out a sigh.

  “Only temporarily,” Judith replied with a droll expression. “She decided not to quit after all. The next thing I know, she’ll be trying to save the guests.”

  Renie didn’t comment. “No takers on that note you found?” she asked, rinsing out her coffee mug in the sink. “The guest interviews are over. Joe and that young detective just came from upstairs. They looked annoyed.”

  “I suppose.” Judith was searching the refrigerator’s freezer compartment for luncheon possibilities. “Joe can’t believe this happened so close to his retirement. I wish he’d go to work and forget about it for a few hours.”

  “You’re right,” Renie agreed, looking out through the window above the sink. “There are plenty of reminders. I see some uniforms combing the area.”

  Judith joined Renie at the window. Two policemen were searching the Rankerses’ hedge, while a third was heading for the front of the house.

  “Oh, great,” Judith sighed. “I suppose they’ll mark the entire property with crime scene tape. What will the neighbors think?”

  Renie grinned. “That you’re at it again?”

  “Shut up.” Judith set her jaw, then turned as J. J. Martinez poked his head into the kitchen. “Mrs. Flynn? Could I see you for a moment?”

  “Oh—certainly.” Judith had forgotten that she, too, would have to be interviewed. “In the front parlor?”

  J. J. nodded in his jerky fashion. “Afraid so. Should have questioned you first, but Joe filled us in.”

  Asking Renie to keep an eye on the guests in the living room, Judith followed J. J. into the parlor. “Do you need more coffee?” Judith asked, ever the hostess. “Something to eat? I’m going to fix lunch in a little while.”

  “Too much caffeine already.” J. J. rapped a mug with his knuckles. “Joe says it makes me jumpy. You think I’m jumpy, Mrs. Flynn?”

  “Well…” Judith bit her lips. She figured that an extra “J” could easily be added to the detective’s nickname. “Jumpy,” “Jittery,” or “Jerky” would work. “Maybe a little. And please call me Judith. I’ve known you for quite a while, J. J.”

  “Oh. Yes. That’s true.” J. J. gave Judith a surprisingly diffident smile. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if his manner pro
ved effective in unsettling suspects. Or at least throwing them off-guard. “Now tell me exactly how you found the victim, Mrs…Judith,” J. J. asked in his most serious voice.

  It was only eleven o’clock, yet it seemed like much longer since Judith had discovered John Smith’s corpse around seven-thirty. Slowly, carefully, she recounted the circumstances, beginning with Sweetums’s arrival in the kitchen.

  J. J. seemed intrigued. “Does your cat always come in at the same time every morning?”

  “No,” Judith answered. “He’s unpredictable. Besides, my mother and I sort of share him. Some nights he stays with her in the toolshed. Others, he’ll come into the house and sleep in the basement. Then again, he might stay out and prowl. He’s a very independent cat.”

  “Aren’t they all?” J. J. remarked, then let Judith continue with her story. When she had finished, the detective remained silent for several moments. “You’re certain you didn’t hear anything during the night?” he finally asked.

  “Not that I recall. What did Joe say?”

  J. J. shook his head. “Same thing. Mentioned the front door was unlocked. Killer might have gone out that way. What about the thunder and lightning?”

  Judith frowned. “What about it?”

  “We had some. Not real close. Off in the distance, towards the mountains.” J. J. drummed his fingers on the mantel. “None of the guests heard it, either. My wife and I did, but we live across the lake.”

  The lake separated the city from the suburbs and the foothills of the mountain range. It wasn’t surprising to Judith that the ten miles between Hillside Manor and the Martinez home would make a difference.

  “A silencer,” Judith suggested. “Is that what might have muffled the shot?”

  “Sure. Joe and Rich already found two silencers among your guests’ belongings.”

  “What?” Judith jumped in the wingback chair.

  J. J. looked equally startled. “Didn’t Joe tell you? Your guests have regular handgun arsenals in their rooms.”

  Judith was aghast. “I knew about the gun Joe found. You mean some of the other guests also came armed?”

  J. J. nodded slowly. “You bet. Santoris. Malones. Du Turque. Even the preschool teachers. Joe found silencers in Schwartz’s and Smith’s rooms. Santoris had a silencer for their weapon, too. Have to wonder if Mrs. Smith wasn’t carrying, too.”

  “Good grief!” Judith sank back into the chair. “Who are these people?”

  “Apt question,” J. J. responded. “We’re having them run through the computer. By the way, the Malones were outside during the night. Found their shoes with damp dirt on the soles. Won’t say where they were or why. Might have been them who left the front door unlocked.”

  For almost a full minute, Judith didn’t say anything. She was too overwhelmed by the enormity of J. J.’s revelation about the weapons. Then reason began to set in. “I suppose,” she said slowly, “that in this day and age when people travel by car, they often bring along a gun. But what about the ones who came by plane, like Pam and Sandi?”

  J. J. shrugged. “You sure they flew?”

  “I saw the airporter,” Judith said, then realized the fallacy. “You’re right—anybody who is willing to pay for the trip can ride the airporter around town.”

  “And the rest?”

  “The Smiths, the Schwartzes, and the Malones arrived by private car. I don’t know about Mr. du Turque,” Judith admitted.

  “He took the train,” said J. J. “But the Santoris did fly into town. I saw their airline tickets.”

  Judith turned a puzzled face to J. J. “Now you’ve got me worried about airport security.”

  “Don’t. They’re good.” J. J. was pacing the parlor. “Guns can be put in the luggage compartment if you notify the airline ahead of time.”

  “Where is the collective arsenal?” Judith asked.

  “We’re holding onto everything for now, including the one Joe already took from the victim.” J. J. paused. “We’re done here…Judith.” The detective gave her his self-effacing, crooked grin. “I still have to interview your mother. Want to come? I hear she’s…elderly.”

  Judith smiled back at J. J. “I think you mean ‘difficult.’ That is, if you’ve been talking to my husband.”

  J. J. scratched his head. “That’s not quite the way he put it.”

  Judith stood up. “I didn’t think so. Shall we?”

  “Sure.” J. J. opened the parlor door for Judith. “Don’t worry, I’ve tackled difficult suspects before.”

  Judith stopped on the threshold and gazed into J. J.’s dark eyes. “No, you haven’t”

  They proceeded to the toolshed.

  SEVEN

  GERTRUDE WAS WATCHING a talk show on TV. The sound was so loud that Judith had to shout at her mother to use the remote to turn it down. Gertrude ignored her.

  “A real shocker,” Gertrude said happily. “Women who married men who turned out to be the women who’d stolen their other men.”

  Judith hit the power button on the set; the small living room became mercifully quiet. “This is Jesus Jorge Martinez, Mother. He’s a detective, and he’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “Haysoos?” Gertrude wrinkled her nose. “What kind of goofy name is that? Who’s your brother—Hay Fever?” The old woman chuckled at her own skewed brand of humor.

  “Mother…” Judith began, but J. J. had pulled a folding chair next to Gertrude and was sitting down.

  “Mrs. Grover,” he said, exuding a jittery kind of charm. “I’ve heard you’re quite a scamp.”

  “Scamp?” Gertrude scowled. “At my age, the only kind of scamp I can be is a canceled one. Get it? Canceled scamp!” She slapped J. J. on the arm.

  “Funny,” J. J. remarked. “Now let’s talk about this morning.”

  “Let’s not.” Gertrude was no longer smiling, but glaring at Judith. “How come I’m having visitors? Nobody ever comes out to this would-be coffin to see me. Today’s like a parade. Am I a float?” She broke into another grin. “Am I afloat? Or sinking fast?”

  “Mother,” Judith said in a voice approaching despair, “please. This is serious.”

  “How did you sleep last night?” J. J. asked, his lean face sympathetic.

  “Sleep?” The question seemed to distract Gertrude. “Who sleeps at my age? Who needs to? Pretty soon, I’ll be sleeping forever.”

  “Did you hear anything last night?” J. J. persisted.

  “I don’t hear so good,” Gertrude replied. “What happened?”

  “Umm…” J. J. winced. “The man who was found on your doorstep this morning?”

  The small wrinkled face was a mask of confusion. “I thought it was a woman.”

  “No,” J. J. responded softly. “It was a man.”

  Gertrude jabbed in the direction of the TV. “How can you tell these days? Men are women, and women are men. It wasn’t like that in my day.”

  J. J. remained patient. “Did you hear anything? See anything?”

  Gertrude leaned closer to J. J. “Give me a hint.”

  “A noise? Voices?”

  Gertrude appeared to be thinking. “I’d like to buy a vowel,” she said suddenly. “When’s ‘Wheel of Fortune’ on?”

  “Pardon?” J. J. looked bewildered.

  “I’d like to buy a bowel,” Gertrude said, with another glare for Judith. “My stomach’s not so good. Hey, twerp, where’s my breakfast?”

  “You had breakfast,” Judith said wearily. “It’s almost time for lunch.”

  Awkwardly, J. J. got out of the folding chair. “Thank you, Mrs. Grover. It’s been…nice.”

  “Who’s next?” Gertrude asked with an anticipatory smile. “The president? The pope? Oprah?”

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” Judith promised as she and J. J. exited the toolshed. “I warned you,” she said after closing the door and scooting under the crime scene tape. “Mother’s mind is very fragmented.”

  “Is it?”

  Judith turne
d to look at J. J. But she said nothing.

  They went back into the house.

  “Look,” Barney Schwartz was saying to Rich Goldman, “stop getting us all mixed up. We can’t leave town, or we can’t leave the house? Which is it?”

  Considering that all of the guests were talking at once as they crowded around Rich by the bay window, the young detective kept his composure. “We’d appreciate it if, for now, you’d remain on the premises. Maybe by this afternoon, you’ll be free to leave the B&B. But we must insist that you don’t leave town. If you feel a need to spend the night somewhere else, please notify us.”

  “Sheesh,” said Mal. “So we’re stuck here for the time being?”

  Rich nodded. “That’s right. My partner and I are headed downtown right now, but we’re leaving some uniformed officers here to watch the house. We’ll get back to all of you as soon as we can.”

  The guests began to disperse. Mal and Bea trudged up the stairs; Barney and his mother went into the front parlor; the Santoris adjourned to the front porch; Sandi and Pam used the french doors to go out the back way; Roland du Turque remained at the piano.

  The rain had lightened to a mere drizzle, with occasional breaks in the clouds. Judith returned to the kitchen, looking for Joe.

  “He left,” Renie said, “while you were in the toolshed.”

  Judith picked up the phone directory. “I want to check on something,” she said. “Which airport shuttle is blue with white letters?”

  Renie cocked an eye at the high ceiling. “Hmm…the one that serves Boring Field.”

  Judith frowned at Renie. “That can’t be right. None of the commercial flights land at Boring Field. Those are all charters and private planes.”

  “Not my fault,” Renie said with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because,” Judith replied, finding the listing in the Yellow Pages, “that’s what brought Pam and Sandi here. I thought I’d check to see if they really did fly in with those guns.”

  “What guns?” asked Renie, who was making herself useful by loading the dishwasher.