by Mary Daheim
“I’m waiting for word on my daughter-in-law,” Judith said in the most amiable voice she could muster. “Have you heard anything about a Mrs. McMonigle?”
The young man, who wore a trim mustache and fair hair cropped close to his scalp, regarded Judith warily. “You had a cat.”
“What?” The statement startled Judith. “Oh—you mean I brought a cat. I thought you meant that my daughter-in-law…Never mind. Do you have any information on her?”
The young man sorted through some more papers. “She was admitted at eleven-twenty.” He glanced at his watch. “That was almost an hour ago. There should be some news shortly.” He turned back to his charts.
Judith refused to sit in the empty waiting room. Instead, she began pacing the hallway. The clock above the main desk showed twelve-fifteen. Gertrude would be expecting her lunch. Searching for quarters in her wallet, Judith asked the nurse where the pay phones were located.
“There’s a courtesy phone in the waiting room,” he replied without looking up.
Despite the fact that a no smoking policy had been in effect for years, the waiting area still smelled like cigarettes. Some of the magazines were older than the smoking ban, and decades of frayed nerves seemed to linger on the stale air.
Judith called Joe first, but had to leave a message. He was probably out to lunch with Woody, Judith thought as she dialed her mother’s number. As usual, Gertrude let it ring and ring…and ring. Just as Judith was about to slam down the receiver and let the old girl starve, Gertrude answered.
“Why are you calling me from the hospital?” she rasped. “Are you really that sick?”
“What?” Her mother’s response startled Judith. “Oh—you saw the hospital’s number on your caller ID. I’m okay, but Kristin is having the baby.”
“Kristin?” Gertrude sounded puzzled. “Who’s Kristin?”
“Your granddaughter-in-law,” Judith said, trying to be patient. “Mike’s wife.”
“Who’s Mike?”
Judith was about to explain when she heard Gertrude chortle. “Okay, okay, Toots, I get it. How soon?”
“I don’t know,” Judith replied.
“Surprise. You never know much, kiddo. When’s lunch?”
“When I get home,” Judith said, then remembered that Herself was probably still in the house. “Or, call my number and see if Vivian answers. She’s helping out today and she’ll fix you something.”
“Vivian, huh? Haven’t seen her for awhile. Okay, I’ll ring her up. Say, how’d I leave Germany?”
The question took Judith aback. “What? You mean as a child?”
“Whenever. I told that nice young man from the government that I took a bus,” Gertrude said. “Think that’s right?”
In all the other excitement, Judith had forgotten about Agent Dunleavy. “Is he still there?”
“Nope. He left about an hour ago. But he’ll be back.” Gertrude sounded pleased by the idea.
Judith groaned. “What on earth for? Mother, are you leading him on?”
“Nope. Just answering his questions. Hey,” she said in an excited voice, “here’s Vivian now. Hello, sweetheart. Come right in, take a load off…”
The phone went dead in Judith’s ear. She tried not to be irked with Herself, who, for once, was being genuinely helpful. Getting up from the worn faux leather chair, she caught a glimpse of Mike, rushing past the open door.
“Mike!” she yelled, racing out of the waiting room. “Wait!”
Mike turned just before heading to the elevators. “Mom!” He was all smiles. “Are you here to meet your grandson?”
In midstep, Judith halted and stared at her son. “My grandson!” She reeled at the news.
Mike nodded and enfolded his mother in a bear hug. “He came so quick, downstairs, in the hall, we couldn’t get up to delivery in time. Sorry I had to hang up on your machine, but…”
“Slow down.” Judith realized she was gasping for breath, too. “The baby’s already here? It’s a boy? Is he okay? How’s Kristin?”
“Fine, great, everybody’s terrific.” Still beaming, Mike released Judith. “I tried to call you again, but Mrs. Flynn—the other Mrs. Flynn—answered. She didn’t know where you’d gone.”
“I’d gone…here,” Judith said, feeling dazed. “Oh, dear. Can I see the baby? And Kristin?”
“Sure.” Mike took his mother’s arm and led her back down the hall. “It’s not far to the nursery. Then we’ll go to Kristin’s room. She’s kind of tired, though.”
“Of course.” Relief swept over Judith. She squeezed Mike’s arm as they approached the big windows of the nursery.
There were five babies in all. Two were black, one was Asian, and another seemed to be of Middle Eastern ancestry. Even if the McMonigle infant hadn’t been the only Caucasian lying in the tiny isolettes, Judith would have recognized him. He was chubby, wrinkled, and had strange tufts of red hair sticking up all over his head.
“Oh! He’s beautiful!” Judith burst into tears.
“Isn’t he? Look, his eyes are open. See, he’s waving his fists. Do you think he’s trying to talk?” Mike was leaning so close to the window that his breath clouded the glass.
For several moments, Judith said nothing. She wished Joe were with them. “Wonderful,” she murmured between sniffles. “Amazing. Have you picked out a name?”
Mike finally turned away from the window. “Yes. You’re going to love it, Mom.”
“I’m sure I will.” She dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex. “What is it?”
“What do you think?” Mike was beaming again. “Dan McMonigle, the second.”
Judith cried even harder.
Renie seemed happy for Judith, though equally appalled at the name Mike and Kristin had chosen.
“I know, I know,” Judith said in a rather fretful voice. “But it’s their decision. And Mike really was close to Dan.”
“You couldn’t get close to Dan,” Renie retorted. “He was too damned fat.”
It was only when the cousins were getting into the Camry that Judith realized Sweetums was nowhere in sight.
“What did you do with my cat?” Judith demanded, backing out of the passenger seat and eyeing Renie over the car roof.
“I subdued him,” Renie replied, ducking down to get behind the wheel.
“Where is he?” Judith’s voice was strident.
“He’s fine,” Renie insisted, turning the key. “Come on, get in. Let’s go.”
But Judith refused to budge. “I want to see him. Alive.”
Renie uttered a strangled sigh. “Okay, okay,” she said, leaning down to flip the latch to the trunk. “Check him out. He’s back there.”
Hurrying to the rear of the car, Judith lifted the trunk lid. There was no sign of Sweetums. Then she saw the heavy cardboard box that the Joneses used to hold their emergency equipment. The box was upside down—and jiggling.
“Sweetums!” Judith cried, lifting the box.
His eyes were bright; indeed, blazing would have been a better word. Except for a few missing patches, his fur stood straight up and the growl that came from low in his throat was ominous. Taking a chance, Judith grabbed the cat, slammed the lid of the trunk, and got into the car.
“You mangled the poor little guy,” Judith said in reproach. “How could you?”
“It was either me or him,” Renie said, backing out of the parking place. “I chose me. Don’t you dare let him get out of your lap.”
There was no use arguing further with Renie, so Judith dropped the subject, preferring to talk about how beautiful the baby was, how alert, how utterly extraordinary. Renie had listened with apparent interest, though Judith noticed that her cousin had caressed Cammy’s steering wheel several times during the drive home.
By the time Renie dropped Judith and Sweetums off at Hillside Manor, the TV crew and the reporters had left. The officers who remained on duty were sitting at the curb in their squad car. Judith recalled that the guests weren’t required to
return until three o’clock. There was no other sign of activity in the cul-de-sac, which came as a relief.
As usual, she entered the house through the back door. Sweetums, obviously relieved to be on his own turf, leaped out of her arms and ran for cover in the Rankerses’ hedge. Judith was heading for the phone when Vivian appeared in the kitchen.
“Are you a grandma?” she asked with a big smile.
Judith nodded. “A boy, named Dan.” It took willpower not to gulp at the name. “Eight pounds, nine ounces. He’s adorable.”
“Of course he is!” Vivian hurtled the length of the kitchen and hugged Judith. “Grandma Flynn! How I envy you! And how you look the part! Granny!”
Judith wriggled free. “Maybe,” she said with a touch of asperity, “some day Caitlin will finally find a man and provide you with grandchildren.”
“Caitlin,” Vivian said, referring to the daughter she had had by Joe, “is a dedicated career woman who has found plenty of men but not one who suits her. She’s terribly fussy.”
Unlike her mother, Judith thought, and for once, didn’t regret being mean-minded. “I thought one of your two sons by your first and second husbands had married.”
“They did,” Herself replied airily. “Both of them. Twice. But so far, no kiddies. It’s just as well—I’m too young to be a grandmother.” She waved a magenta-clad arm and simpered at Judith.
“Mm-mm,” Judith murmured, keeping her thoughts buttoned up. “Did Mother have lunch?”
Herself nodded. “She ate a beautiful meal. Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, peas. She lapped it up and said she’d never had better.”
A TV dinner, Judith thought. And, in fact, Gertrude actually enjoyed them. Unless she pretended she did, just to be contrary. Judith refused to serve her mother frozen meals.
“I’m off now,” Herself declared. “I must see if DeeDee would like to go shopping. She and I used to buy out the stores in Florida.”
With Joe’s money. But again, Judith kept the thought inside. “Thanks for everything,” she said, and hoped she sounded as if she meant it. “I really appreciate it. I know Mother does, too.”
“Of course.” Herself examined her crimson nails. “Your mother and I had such a nice visit. She’s in quite a chipper mood. I think it’s all the company she’s had the past few days. Guests cheer her immensely. I tried to get that Minerva to join us, but she’s stuck up, isn’t she?”
Judith gave a little start. “Minerva?”
Herself nodded. “The one whose son was arrested for killing that gangster. She came by right after you left. Of course I didn’t realize you’d gone, so I looked all over for you, but…”
“Minerva came here?” Judith interrupted. “Why?”
“She wanted her money back for last night, since neither she nor—Barney, is it?—stayed here,” Herself explained calmly. “Minerva was—oh, I don’t know where, she’s very closed-mouth. Anyway, she was somewhere, and Barney was in jail. By the way, she dropped off a raincoat she borrowed.”
“Did you give her credit?” Judith asked, thinking that Phyliss would be relieved to have her coat back.
Herself chuckled. “Are you serious? I know all about motels and hotels and inns and such. From traveling,” Herself added hastily, lest Judith get the wrong idea, which of course she already had. “You have a cancellation policy, I’m sure. They are never retroactive. I put a flea in her ear and sent her on her way.”
Once again, Judith was forced to feel grateful to Herself. “Thanks, Vivian. Do you know where she was going?”
“To hell in a handcart, for all I care,” Herself retorted. “Don’t get me wrong, I like people, they make great audiences. But that woman’s a pain.”
Judith couldn’t disagree. But she wished that Vivian had extracted more information from Minerva Schwartz. “Did she mention Barney?”
“The son?” Herself patted her platinum curls. “Is he worth mentioning?”
“You mean…?”
“Looks, Judith. Build. Endurance. All the important things when it comes to men.” Herself’s tone was faintly patronizing.
“Barney’s a crook,” Judith said.
“Nobody’s perfect.”
“He’s homely.”
“Oh.” Herself shrugged. “That’s different. No, I don’t think that even his mother thought he was worth mentioning. I must dash. Stand by, I may call you tonight to see if you and Joe can come over to meet DeeDee.”
Judith didn’t bother to protest, though she assumed that Joe would want to go up to the hospital to see the baby. Finally getting a chance to check her messages, she saw that her husband had called while she was out. Judith dialed his number; he answered before the first ring had finished.
“We’re grandparents,” Judith said, the excitement rekindling. “A boy. He’s adorable.”
“Wow.” Joe sounded awestruck. “Maybe I’ll swing by the hospital on the way home. Have they named him?”
“Uh…yes.” Judith swallowed hard. “Dan McMonigle II.”
Joe didn’t respond for what seemed like a long time. “Okay. That figures.” He laughed, a wry, sharp sound. “Who does he look like?”
“You.”
“Then I guess that’s my revenge.”
“It’s your immortality.”
“Damn. I still wish…Never mind, Jude-girl. This is great news. I’ll see you later.”
Judith stood by the phone for some time. She had made her decision when Mike and Kristin were married. Her son would never know that Joe Flynn was his real father. Despite Dan’s faults, Mike had idolized him, especially in death. They had a bond, in name, in fact, and in deed. It was as deep as blood, as imperishable as memory. Despite Joe, Judith’s respect for Dan’s sense of duty as a father could not be revoked.
But that didn’t diminish Joe’s pain. Though he had unknowingly left her pregnant and eloped with Vivian, he still longed for the intimacy with Mike that a stepfather could never have. His feelings stabbed at Judith’s heart, yet she couldn’t change the past. The wound lay deep inside, an old scar that never quite healed, and festered at times like this, when blood was indeed thicker than water.
J. J. Martinez was at the front door, looking abject. “Couldn’t get permission to put the witnesses up at a downtown hotel. They should be back in an hour or so.”
“What?” Judith was aghast. “You mean that you haven’t cleared them as suspects, either?”
“Right.” J. J. shifted from one foot to the other on the welcome mat. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
Judith shook her head several times. “That won’t do. I have all the rooms taken for tonight. The new guests will start arriving any time. You’ve got to do something, J. J. I have only two rooms available. I wouldn’t have that many if Minerva Schwartz hadn’t checked out this afternoon.”
“Minerva Schwartz?” J. J. looked startled. “She was here?”
Judith nodded. “But I wasn’t. Didn’t your uniforms tell you?”
J. J.’s response was to race off the porch and out to the curb where the officers sat in their patrol car. Still angry over the dilemma the police had put her in, Judith watched with a wary eye.
J. J. trotted back to the house. “Said they thought it was okay, as long as she came back by three,” he said, obviously annoyed. “When we let her go downtown, she told us she was going to spend the night here. Suppose she came back to get her things.”
“She’d already taken them,” Judith said, then frowned. “Why did she come back?”
J. J. gave a nervous shrug. “Couldn’t say. That is, if she didn’t check back in. Darn.”
Perhaps Minerva had returned merely to get credit for the unused room. But Judith wasn’t entirely convinced. The only good news was that Minerva’s departure freed up a room.
“Come on, J. J.,” she urged. “You’ve got to help me. Where am I going to put all these people? Or should I call the chief?”
J. J.’s dark eyes opened wide. “No! Can’t cau
se trouble. Besides, it’s not just us. It’s the feds. Have to walk a narrow line on this one.” His gaze darted toward the vacant Rankerses’ house. “Any chance of putting them up over there while your neighbors are out of town?”
“Heavens, no,” Judith shot back. “I wouldn’t dream of imposing. I’m not even sure when they’re coming back. It could be today.”
“Well…” J. J. fidgeted, his eyes still darting around the cul-de-sac. “What about the other B&Bs around here? They full, too?”
“Find out,” Judith said, her chin jutting. “Let me know by three-thirty.” She backed into the house and slammed the door in J. J.’s startled face.
The phone was ringing. Judith rushed into the kitchen to grab the receiver.
Blanche Rexford was on the line. “You made me curious, Judith,” she said in that faintly wispy voice. “I looked up Mr. Turk in Contemporary Authors and Who’s Who. I thought you might be interested in what his biographies say about him.”
“I am,” Judith assured the librarian.
“I won’t read the whole pieces,” Blanche said, “but I’ll summarize them for you. Mr. Turk’s real name is Orlando Turquette, born in New Orleans. After graduating from college—LSU—he moved to Kansas City. His parents joined him there, where his father opened a night club. Apparently, he’d had one in New Orleans as well. His father’s first name, by the way, was Parnell. Eight years ago, he was murdered. The killing was never solved, but the tragedy motivated Orlando to write about organized crime. Is that of any help?”
“It could be,” Judith allowed. “Poor Roland. I mean, Orlando. I can see why he took to writing about criminals. Or does it say specifically if his father’s slaying was gang-related?”
“It was suspected, but never proved,” Blanche replied. “I flipped through Mr. Turk’s book. He mentioned the Fusilli family. Does that mean anything to you?”
Judith said that it certainly did.
FIFTEEN
JUDITH IMMEDIATELY ASKED Blanche to put aside Cosa Nostra: Not Our Thing. She promised to check it out as soon as possible. Then Judith listened to the other messages that had accumulated in her absence. Fortunately, none of them was of immediate importance.