Legs Benedict

by Mary Daheim

  Joe and J. J. hadn’t argued.

  Judith wasn’t quite as amused. “Are you saying,” she asked Joe, “that DeeDee came here to kill Doria? And who was he, anyway?”

  Joe spread his hands. “Give me a chance, I’m getting to that. Baby Face Doria—again, according to our computer—was also a hit man for the Fusilli family. What J. J. and the FBI are figuring is that DeeDee was sent along with Legs to whack Barney. Legs was probably told that DeeDee was a decoy, to lure Barney with her womanly charms. But in reality—and this is conjecture because we’ll have to wait until DeeDee can talk—after the hit in Detroit, DeeDee was supposed to knock off Legs. The mob often works that way. For whatever reason, the original hit man also has to get hit.”

  “So DeeDee shot Legs and Doria?” Judith asked, her dark eyes wide.

  “That’s what it looks like,” Joe said. “But Doria wasn’t her part of her assignment. He was sent to whack her.”

  Judith didn’t comment for a few moments. “So,” she finally said, “why didn’t DeeDee keep going after Legs was killed and she left the B&B?”

  Joe shrugged. “She must have known Herself was in the neighborhood. I gather they’d kept in touch. Maybe DeeDee wanted to keep an eye on what was happening with the investigation. Hiding in plain sight, so to speak, probably struck her as a smart idea. She was safer there than if she’d tried to skip town. Minerva Schwartz got caught that way.”

  “No wonder DeeDee wouldn’t come here to meet us,” Judith said, still marveling at the complexity of mob family ties. “What if we’d accepted Vivian’s invitation and gone over there?”

  “DeeDee probably would’ve developed a headache,” Joe said.

  “I guess.” Judith was still thinking. “Last night at T. S. McSnort’s, Doria mentioned canvassing the neighborhood. He must have known DeeDee was still around here somewhere. Maybe he saw the car parked by Dooley’s.”

  “Possibly,” Joe conceded. “He may also have known her M.O.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Judith’s tone was very vague before she remembered to tell Joe about the connection between another man named Doria and Roland du Turque. “Do you think they’re related?” she asked.

  Joe shrugged again. “Why not? This mob stuff is all about families. Baby Face could be that other Doria’s son or even a grandson. But I doubt he came here because of Roland.”

  Again, Judith was silent. “She could have gotten away,” she said at last.

  Joe made a face. “What do you mean?”

  “DeeDee. Minerva got caught because she tried to skip the country. She was at the airport, which the police always check, along with the bus depot and the train station and the major highways. DeeDee had a half-hour, maybe forty-five-minute head start on the APB, I forget exactly. But she could have ditched the car, even left it here, and still have disappeared. This is a big city.” Judith leaned forward, both fists on the table. “Why didn’t she?”

  “Because she had an obligation to finish the hit on Barney?” Joe suggested. “She may have figured he’d be released.”

  “Will he?” Judith asked.

  Joe shook his head. “Dubious. The feds have put together a pretty tight case based on his organized crime connections.”

  There was a spark in Judith’s eyes as she sorted through Joe’s explanation. “Darlene must be savvy enough to know that. As for Doria, he hadn’t shown up yet. She stayed here because she had to find out what was happening. I’m not arguing she didn’t intend to kill Legs Benedict, but she didn’t do it. She had to stay here because she needed to know who did.”

  TWENTY

  JUDITH KNEW THAT Joe was humoring her by not scoffing at her conjecture. “Does that mean these people can leave?” she asked, gesturing toward the front parlor.

  “J. J.’s checking on that,” Joe replied. “As soon as he’s talked to DeeDee, I imagine he’ll say they can go.”

  Judith’s shoulders slumped. “Thank goodness. I think.”

  “What?” Joe had picked up the morning paper and was peering at Judith over the sports section.

  “Nothing.” Judith rose from her chair just as Mike appeared. In all the excitement, she’d actually forgotten that he was staying in the house. “Mike!” she cried, startling both men. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure, why shouldn’t I be?” He grinned at his mother, then thumped Joe on the shoulder. “Man, I slept like a cedar stump. I was so tired after yesterday that I just put my head down and died.”

  Joe and Judith exchanged quick glances. “Have a seat,” said Joe, pulling out the chair next to him. “I think I’d better fill you in.”

  Judith decided that Joe could go it alone in Round Two of the ongoing Legs Benedict saga. She headed for the front parlor to try to reassure the guests.

  Halfway through the dining room, she stopped. If the guests were really going to leave, Judith had to retrieve the Malones’ film. They might not check their camera gear, but they’d miss the roll eventually. Turning around, she headed back through the kitchen, telling Joe and Mike that she was going to run a quick errand on top of the hill.

  “I might be gone when you get back,” Mike called after her. “I have to be up at the hospital by eleven to get Kristin and Dan ready to come home.”

  “That’s fine,” Judith shouted over her shoulder. “I’ll be here by the time you get back.”

  The rain had started again, with the gray clouds hanging low over Heraldsgate Hill. In the rearview mirror, Judith could barely see the bay, which was almost obliterated by the rain. Now that she had a moment to take in her surroundings, she realized that it was another gloomy June day. Judith also felt gloomy. She had a feeling that a murderer was about to get away with what she could only consider the perfect crime. The lack of justice, the absence of conclusion, and her own ineptitude made her feel depressed. The usual logic, by which she set such store, had deserted her.

  The photography store was on her left, where only diagonal parking was allowed. This morning the spaces were already filled. Over the years, Heraldsgate Hill had become a fashionable neighborhood. The situation was ironic: The location was close to downtown, yet the hill itself was comparatively isolated. Many of the homes were large, suitable for families. Singles flocked to the apartments and condos that had sprung up in the last two decades. Yet another attraction was the low crime rate. Except, Judith thought with remorse, at Hillside Manor. She felt like a one-woman blight.

  Three blocks along the avenue, she spotted a parking place on the opposite side of the street. Driving into Falstaff’s lot to turn around, she recklessly went down the exit lane, hoping to avoid anyone entering from the other direction.

  She’d made a mistake. A champagne-colored car was coming toward her at an alarming rate of speed. Judith put on the brakes. So did the other driver. They missed colliding by about three inches.

  “Hey, you half-wit!” the other driver shouted before getting out of the car. “You can’t go this way! You’re…”

  “Coz,” Judith said in a docile voice. “Hi.”

  Renie leaned against the hood of the Camry. “Good grief. What on earth are you doing?”

  “What are you doing? It’s only ten o’clock,” Judith said, catching her breath.

  “Those damned Bulgarians woke me up,” Renie said. “If they don’t stop that renovation project across the street, I’m going to dynamite the damned place.”

  “We’ve got to talk,” Judith said, checking behind her to make sure she hadn’t gotten boxed in. “Meet me at Moonbeam’s.”

  Luckily, the parking place was still available. It was exactly halfway between the photography shop and Moonbeam’s, so after retrieving the film, Judith walked the distance to meet Renie.

  Her cousin was already settled into a big armchair by the fireplace. “Latte for you, mocha for me,” Renie said.

  Judith smiled in gratitude. Then, as she sat down in another big armchair, she struck her head with her palm and let out a little yip. “I can’t believe I was so s
tupid,” she cried.

  “What now?” Renie asked, stirring two extra packets of sugar into her mocha.

  Aware that a middle-aged man reading the Wall Street Journal and a young college-age couple had turned to stare, Judith lowered her voice. “I had the film developed. I can’t replace the roll. All I’ve got are the actual photographs. How will I explain that to the Malones? What was I thinking?”

  “You thought there was a clue in the photos, or one that might show Corelli,” Renie said calmly. “Wasn’t that the whole point?”

  Judith stared through the big front window where the outside seating had been abandoned on this rainy June morning. “Was it? It seems silly now that Doria’s dead and we know that DeeDee was…”

  “What?” Now it was Renie’s turn to make heads swerve. “Slow down, coz. I’m about ten miles behind.”

  With a sheepish smile for the other caffeine addicts, Judith spoke to Renie in a whisper. She recounted the most recent events while her cousin’s eyes grew huge.

  “So that’s it,” Judith said, wrapping it up. “It looks like DeeDee killed Legs. But I’m not sure I believe it.”

  Renie was oblivious to the puddles of mocha she’d left on the low marble-topped table. “Let me get this straight. Baby Face Doria contacted Pam and Sandi after he learned that Barney had managed to escape Legs in Detroit and was headed here.”

  “That’s my guess,” Judith said. “Pam and Sandi told Pete—Rick, I mean, and Marie had to come along to protect him. But I don’t think Pam and Sandi expected Rick to join them. I guess they thought Marie or some other fed would show up. Rick could ID Legs after he was in custody. But Rick—alias Pete—came along, and that’s why they were so shocked to see him at the B&B.”

  Renie frowned. “You mean they were afraid that Rick might do something foolish?”

  “Of course,” Judith replied. “They warned Rick not to come. Or else they were afraid he would, and they had to come along, too, just in case.”

  “To keep him from said foolish act,” Renie noted. “What a mixup, with possible tragic results.”

  “Talk about a tangled web,” Judith remarked with a shake of her head. “As for Roland, Pam and Sandi also got hold of him so he could interview Legs. Or try to, before Legs got whacked. And that’s how they all happened to make their reservations at the same time.”

  “But Doria canceled.” Renie was wearing a mocha mustache, which she haphazardly tried to wipe away. “How come?”

  “He must have had second thoughts,” Judith said. “As part of the Fusilli gang, he would have been recognized by Legs, and maybe Darlene and Pete. I mean, Rick Perl. Somehow he came up with the idea of posing as an FBI agent. He couldn’t pretend he was part of the real team, so he had to think of some other reason to be around the action. Doria might have had time to do some homework on Hillside Manor and our family. He never came inside the house, only to the door when he first arrived, and then he always came straight to the toolshed. It was an excellent gig, because we were overrun with law enforcement types. One more, no matter how absurd the premise, didn’t seem to stick out. His presence was more of a nuisance than anything else, and we were all too caught up with the murder to check on him.”

  “Wild,” Renie remarked. “So if DeeDee didn’t kill Legs, who did?”

  “Barney seems the most likely suspect,” Judith said. “For all we know, he’s plea-bargaining with the FBI. He could claim self-defense, but he’d still need to avoid a long prison term for his involvement in organized crime.”

  “What about Hoffa?” Renie asked as two mothers pushed strollers past them on their way to the barista, who was busy tending the coffee urn.

  “Hoffa,” Judith echoed. “I’d forgotten about him. Maybe Barney was involved somehow. But I doubt that it plays a part in this case, except as background for Roland’s book.”

  Renie had finished her mocha. “Let’s see those pictures. I’ve got to get to Falstaff’s, which is where I was headed when you tried to mow me down.”

  “I feel silly,” Judith said, taking the packet of photographs out of her purse. “How will I ever explain this to the Malones?”

  “You’ll think of something,” Renie said with a sly look.

  “Here are the Badlands in North Dakota, with Bea and a dog looking wind-blown,” Judith noted as she went through the photos one by one. “I like it when they put dates on pictures. Maybe I’ll get Joe a camera like that for his birthday in August. Mike and Kristin already have one, which is great now that the baby’s here. Okay, now we have Mal and the same dog in front of the lodge at the east entrance to Glacier National Park. More Glacier, Going to the Sun Highway. This is all Montana, taken late last week. Now they’re at Lake Coeur d’Alene in Idaho. Oh, Lordy, Bea in a bathing suit. Bad idea. Dog holding life preserver in its mouth. Mal on water skis. Mal sinking into Lake Coeur d’Alene on water skis. That was Sunday.” She was almost to the last few pictures.

  “Where’s their son?” Renie asked. “Had Corelli already been killed?”

  Judith made a face. “Didn’t they say they’d lost him on this trip? Surely they wouldn’t have…I don’t get it. There are no photos of Bea and Mal together. There should be, if Corelli was with them and had been using the camera. Maybe I didn’t hear right, maybe Corelli was shot earlier, and they came west to get away from it all.”

  “Did you ever remember those other names Mal mentioned on the phone?” Renie asked as she reapplied lipstick.

  “They were all Italian, except for an Irish name. McCormack. Of course it could be Scots,” Judith added.

  “Hmm.” Renie was scowling. “Interesting.”

  Judith turned sharply. “Why?”

  “Never mind for now,” Renie said. “What else have you got?”

  “A rest stop, somewhere in the eastern part of the state. Bea with a dog.” Judith stopped, then locked glances with Renie. “Go back to what you just said.”

  “That was interesting?” Renie leaned over to peer at the photo. “A black lab. What’s the last picture?”

  It was of Mal, on his haunches, scratching the ears of the dog. “That’s it,” said Judith, then gave a start. “Coz, am I crazy or could Corelli be the dog?”

  Renie gasped. “My God! of course! And maybe McCormack and those Italians you can’t remember were dogs, too. They were named after opera singers. Franco Corelli, John McCormack, and whoever else they mentioned.”

  “They had opera tapes in their car,” Judith said, excitement mounting. “Remember what we were saying yesterday about kids and pets and cars? Some people treat animals as if they were children. As in sons and daughters.”

  “Somebody shot their dog,” Renie said. “Somebody shot several of their dogs. Is this making sense? Do the Malones have a criminal record? Or just enormous bills at the vet?”

  “No one has mentioned a criminal record to me,” Judith admitted. “Look, we’ve already figured that those names belonged to animals, not people.”

  “So how do you ask the Malones if their son was a dog?” Renie broke in.

  Judith waved a hand. “Look at this picture. They had a dog on Sunday.”

  “Do we know it’s their dog?”

  “Yes,” Judith declared. “They have a water dish in their Explorer. I saw it last night, but it didn’t sink in. They may have more pet-related stuff under the rest of their belongings. If a child, a person, had been killed along the way, the Malones would have turned around and gone back to Chicago.”

  Renie had stood up and slung her handbag over her shoulder. “How about this? The Malones are insane. Period. With any luck, the Malones will also be gone in an hour or two. Got to run, coz. Let me know what happens.”

  When Judith returned home, she found Joe in the entry hall, arguing through the closed door with the guests in the front parlor. They didn’t believe that they’d be allowed to depart by one o’clock. In polite tones, Roland conveyed the message that, after a discussion of J. J.’s announcement, there had been
unanimous agreement that it was a trick to get them to come out. Apparently, even Marie didn’t trust her fellow law enforcement officials.

  “They’ll get hungry eventually,” Judith said grimly. “They ate breakfast early, and it’s already going on eleven. I’m going to check on Mother. Meanwhile, could you get that bassinet and the stand down from the loft now that the corpse has been removed?”

  Joe gave Judith an ironic smile. “Sure. Anything else?”

  “The box with the receiving blankets and baby clothes,” Judith replied, heading for the back door. “Oh, if you see another carton marked ‘Bottles Etc.,’ get that. I assume they’ll send formula home from the hospital. Kristin has decided not to nurse.”

  Halfway down the walk, Sweetums darted out from behind the statue of St. Francis of Assisi and sidled up to Judith. “Did I forget to feed you?” she asked wearily. “Stick with me, this won’t take long.”

  Gertrude looked up from her game of solitaire. “Well, aren’t I the popular person these days?” she asked in a sarcastic manner. “Where are all my other guests? I feel deserted.”

  “Arlene’s still out of town,” Judith replied. “Vivian is…ah…busy this morning. She’s had company, you know. And, as I mentioned, Bruce Dunleavy is…gone.”

  “What about that German woman? We had quite a time, talking about our arthritis.” Gertrude peered at her cards. “Drat. Old Nick beat me again.”

  “German woman?” Judith stared at her mother. “Who do you mean?”

  “Minnie, or whatever her name was.” Gertrude reshuffled the cards. “Another widow. Why do all these men have to die on us? Your father was way too young to peg out when he did. I’ve never forgiven him.”

  “Right,” Judith said vaguely, having heard the undeserved indictment of Donald Grover many times. “When did Minerva visit you, Mother?”

  Sweetums jumped on top of the card table just as Gertrude laid out the first row of cards. “Hey!” the old woman shouted. “Get out of there! You can’t play cards. I know, I tried to teach you cribbage.” She gave the cat a shove. “Worthless animal. When was the last time he caught a mouse?”