by Mary Daheim
“In a civil state,” Joe said in his deceptively mild manner. “How about starting with the sofas in the living room?”
George and Jeremy shared one of the sofas; Judith and Joe took the other. A tray with coffee and mugs was already on the coffee table, along with a plate of chocolate madeleines that Judith had baked before going to church.
“Let’s talk about Aimee Carrabas,” Joe said after Judith had performed her hostess duties. “What motivated you to hire an exorcist in the first place?”
George lifted his shoulders. “It seemed like a good idea. I’ve heard of cases where it really worked.” He turned to Jeremy. “You told me about one of them, some Indian woman over on the Peninsula.”
Jeremy nodded with enthusiasm. “Somebody had murdered some chief about forty years ago. Whoever did it—it was a member of the tribe—ran away and was never caught. A few years later, he was killed in a car wreck up in British Columbia. But all that time, and even afterward, the villagers had nothing but bad luck, including being hit by a tsunami which almost destroyed the whole place. I mean, they were just about wiped out. So four or five years ago, the tribal elders tracked down a woman from a different tribe east of the mountains who could perform exorcisms. She came to the Peninsula and did her thing, and now they’re building a casino.”
Joe had cocked his head to one side. “Interesting.” He turned to George. “So you believe in such things?”
“You bet,” George said. “I had a great or great-great-grandmother who could do that. Or so I’m told. She was also a water witch. You know, she could take one of those sticks and find a spring or a well.”
“Actually,” Judith put in, “I had a great-aunt like that. I was very small, but I remember her going around our family cabin with one of those sticks. Sure enough, she found a spring out back right under the spot where my grandfather was going to build an outhouse.”
Joe gave Judith a slightly withering glance before posing his next question to George. “So how did you get in touch with Aimee Carrabas?”
George, who was wearing a short-sleeved cotton shirt, rubbed at his forearms, where curly gray hair stood out against his deep tan. “I heard about her through somebody. I thought the idea of an exorcist was really good. You know, get rid of the past, especially the bad stuff.”
“Couldn’t you find somebody local?” Joe inquired.
“I didn’t try,” George replied, taking his second madeleine from the plate. “Whoever told me about Mrs. Carrabas swore she was the real deal.” He turned to Jeremy. “Did I tell you who recommended her?”
Jeremy shook his head. “No. Why would you?”
George now scratched at his bald spot. “Guess I wouldn’t. Maybe it was the O’Dowds.”
“Who are they?” Joe asked.
“Former tenants,” George said. “They lived at the Alhambra for several years after they sold the family home, but they didn’t want to buy in. Nice folks, older, of course, but not a lot of capital, I guess. They found another apartment a couple of blocks away.”
Joe made a note. “Did they say how they knew Mrs. Carrabas?”
“No, they just said she was the goods,” George replied. “I think one of their kids lives in Garden Grove. Maybe that was where the recommendation came from originally. Anyway, the next thing I know, Mrs. Carrabas calls me about a month ago and we set the date for yesterday.”
“She called you?” Judith asked.
George nodded. “That’s right. The O’Dowds must have gotten in touch with her. Or maybe they told their kid. Anyway, I was real glad to hear from her. I wanted to get the thing over with, and it turned out that we could do it while Jeremy here was taking his tour through.”
Jeremy leaned forward on the sofa. “See, we were supposed to go from the Meacham apartment to the unit where the jewelry had been stashed. Then Mrs. Carrabas was going to come out and do her exorcism while my group watched. I thought it’d be a real thrill. I mean, how many people ever get to see an exorcist do whatever exorcists do?”
“A real show,” Joe remarked. “Was this jewelry for real or part of the performance?”
“Hell, no,” George broke in, his face flushed. “We found that stuff a few days ago. I had a jewelry appraiser come in to look it over to make sure it wasn’t just junk. Most of it was gold and silver, not many stones—chains, bracelets, pins, necklaces. The appraiser said the stuff was the real McCoy, topnotch quality. I locked it up in my safe at work, then brought it back this morning. See, I decided we might as well hold off telling anybody until we had Mrs. Carrabas on hand and the tour was coming through. That’s why I called the TV and newspaper people. It would have made a great story on its own. We didn’t need Mrs. Carrabas to get killed.”
“She probably didn’t need it, either,” Joe said in that same mild tone. “Let’s get back to her. When did she arrive in the city?”
George shrugged. “Thursday, I suppose. She called me that afternoon. That’s when we set the exact time. She agreed to show up around noon and was scheduled to do her thing at one, or whenever the tour group reached the unit where she was waiting.”
“Tell me,” Judith said, “what did she have to do to set up?”
George and Jeremy both looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” George asked.
“Candles?” Judith said. “Crosses? Incense? I understand exorcists often create some sort of atmosphere. Of course, in the Catholic Church it’s strictly a religious ceremony.”
George frowned and scratched his cheek. “Mrs. Carrabas did mention something about incantations and…what was the word? Milieu?”
Judith nodded. “I’m sure she did. She’d want to set the scene, as it were. But unless I missed something, I didn’t see any sign of props.”
“I get it,” Jeremy said with his boyish grin. “Showbiz.”
“Hell, no!” George growled. “This wasn’t a circus act, it was serious stuff. I’m no showman like you are. I wanted to do something sincere.”
“Sure you did,” Joe soothed. “Let’s get back to Mrs. Carrabas. Did you see her when she got to the Alhambra?”
“Yeah,” George replied, calming down. “I was in the courtyard with some of my guys. She came through and I took her up to the vacant unit. We checked it out, and then I told her about the jewelry stash. Mrs. Carrabas was real intrigued, but I told her not to touch it. That was going to be the other newsworthy bit, for afterward. See, I figured we’d get her doing the exorcism, then I’d show everybody the treasure in the floor and say something about how the Alhambra’s luck had already changed.”
“And you said you aren’t a showman,” Jeremy sneered.
“Hey!” George shot back. “I’m not! I’m just a guy who’s trying to make a living.”
“Excuse me,” Judith said gently. “Do you know a tenant named Helen Schnell?”
Jeremy looked blank but George turned a startled face on Judith. “Sure. Is she a friend of yours?”
“I know of her,” Judith replied. “She taught at the same high school where my father did. She’s retired, I think.”
“Right,” George said. “She’s one of the ones who’s buying a condo. Not her original unit—she wanted to be higher up—but the one just above it. Miss Schnell and her mother lived at the Alhambra forever. The old lady died a couple of years back, about the same time that Miss Schnell retired.”
“She’s not all that old then,” Judith remarked.
“Nope,” George answered. “Mid, late sixties. The old lady must have been almost ninety.”
Judith gave a nod, then turned thoughtful as she deferred to Joe.
“What time did Mrs. Carrabas arrive?” he asked, his jaw tightening slightly.
“Umm…” George considered. “A few minutes after noon. Most of the crew had just started their lunch break.”
Joe made another note. “When did you last see Mrs. Carrabas?”
“Umm…” Again, George reflected. “We must’ve been upstairs for about fifteen minutes. I w
aited around a bit while she sort of looked the place over.”
“Excuse me,” Judith put in. “I’m confused. Why did you take her to the vacant apartment when the Meacham murder had occurred on the floor below and one unit over?”
“Because,” George explained, “that’s where we’d stashed the jewelry. We couldn’t ask the media folks to run from one unit to the other. They had all that gear. Several of the apartments are torn up, as you probably noticed. We wanted to show what the originals looked like, capture another era. Several of the tenants had left furniture behind because they didn’t want it anymore or couldn’t use it where they were moving. Besides, Mrs. Carrabas said it didn’t matter what room she used as long as it was inside the building.”
“I see,” Judith said, though she wasn’t quite sure that she did. She could understand the convenience of it, but not the logistics. It seemed to Judith that Mrs. Carrabas would have wanted to get as close as possible to the actual murder location.
“Did Mrs. Carrabas talk much while you were with her?” Joe asked, a trifle testy.
“No, she sort of clucked.”
“Clucked?”
“Yeah. You know”—George clucked several times with his tongue—“like she was approving or maybe not approving certain things.”
“Did she say anything of interest? That is,” Joe clarified, “that might have any connection whatsoever with a sense of danger or a premonition?”
“I don’t get you,” George said, looking puzzled.
“Bad vibrations,” Joe offered. “Fear, concern, anything at all that might indicate she was worried.”
“Nope,” George said. “She seemed pretty cheerful.”
“Hey,” Jeremy broke in, “a happy medium. I like that.”
“She wasn’t a medium, you moron,” George snarled. “You know better, with your Indian tales. Mrs. Carrabas was an exorcist.”
“Well,” Jeremy said, looking chastened, “at least she was happy.”
“Did she mention any names?” Joe queried.
“Of people?” George frowned. “No. Only the Meachams.”
“Was she carrying—” Joe began.
“How did she mention them?” Judith broke in.
George stared at Judith, then rubbed at the back of his neck. “Like, ‘poor Dorothy’ and ‘tragic Harry’ and ‘pitiful little Anne-Marie.’ Or something like that.”
Joe shot Judith a warning glance. “As I was saying, what did Mrs. Carrabas bring with her?”
“A suitcase,” George replied. “Well, not exactly a suitcase. More like a briefcase. But a big one.”
“What happened to it?” asked Joe.
“I don’t know,” George responded, looking mystified. “I never thought about it. Maybe the cops took it. They would, wouldn’t they?”
“Yes,” Joe replied, “they would if they’d found it. But they didn’t.” Again, he turned to Judith. “Did you see anything like that?”
“No,” Judith said, sounding miffed. “But I didn’t get a chance to look. Right after I found the body, the press came pouring in. I got pinned against a bureau.”
Joe stared at Judith. He made another note.
Judith knew what Joe was thinking.
SIX
“YOU DIDN’T HAVE to get so snippy with me,” Judith declared after George and Jeremy had left. “I was only trying to help.”
“Sitting in on an interview doesn’t mean taking over,” Joe asserted. “I’ve been interrogating witnesses for years. There’s a certain way I go about it, conforming to the type of person I’m interviewing, of course. Jumping in with side issues really cramps my style.”
Judith started to pout, then thought better of it. Joe, after all, was right, at least as far his own style of inquiry was concerned. “I tend to seize the moment,” she said. “I’m used to talking to people, not interviewing them. I don’t take notes, I just chat. So I leap on things as they come out, in the natural flow of conversation.”
“That’s fine, you’re not a professional,” Joe pointed out as he started for the back door. “But I am. Try to remember that next time.”
“Where’re you going?” Judith asked.
“To the Alhambra,” Joe replied, one hand on the screen door. “Woody’s got a couple of uniforms on duty there for the next few days. In fact, he and San-cha Rael haven’t finished their search. I’m going to do a little snooping of my own.”
Judith took an eager step forward. “Can I come?”
Joe scowled at Judith. “No. You’ve already been there. I haven’t.”
“You’re going to look in that bureau, aren’t you?” she said in a pettish tone. “You think Mrs. Carrabas’s briefcase may still be there.”
“I doubt it,” Joe replied impatiently. “But it’s got to be somewhere. See you later.”
Ordinarily, Judith would have begged to go along, but she knew she couldn’t leave the house. It was after three-thirty, and the guests would start arriving at any minute. Resignedly, she went to the freezer section of the fridge, seeking inspiration for dinner. The afternoon had grown very warm, well over eighty degrees. Maybe they should barbecue. Judith pulled out a package of boneless sirloin just as the phone rang.
“Hi,” Renie said. “Are you really going to Gut Busters tomorrow?”
“I can,” Judith replied. “Are you?”
“Yes. I’m out of Pepsi.”
Judith was well aware of her cousin’s addiction. She couldn’t get through a workday in her graphic design business without guzzling at least three or four cans, caffeine, calories, and all. Thus, Renie bought Pepsi by the case, saving on cost by going to the large discount store in the south end of town.
“Okay,” Judith said. “Who’s driving?”
“Me?” Renie responded. “How’s eleven o’clock for you?”
The cousins agreed on the time. “I’m not sure I like this cooperative venture between Joe and me,” Judith said. “He’s making all the rules.”
“So? Bill does that sometimes. Just break them.”
“You don’t always,” Judith objected.
“No, I don’t. But once in a while they don’t make sense. Is Joe making sense?”
“Only from his point of view.”
“That’s what I mean.”
Judith sighed. “I don’t know why Bill hasn’t strangled you. Sometimes I feel sorry for him.”
“You know I’m kidding,” Renie said. “Sort of. Is Joe being unreasonable?”
“No,” Judith admitted, and then related the interview with George and Jeremy. “I’d like to call on Miss Schnell. Since she taught with Dad, I hope she’ll be cooperative.”
“Where is she living while the Alhambra is being restored?” Renie asked.
“I asked George that as he and Jeremy were leaving,” Judith said. “She rented an inexpensive apartment at the bottom of the hill. Shall I arrange a meeting after we go to Gut Busters?”
“As long as I get back home by one o’clock,” Renie said. “I’ve got a deadline on my art museum project.”
“Hmm,” Judith murmured. “That’s cutting it close. It always takes us at least an hour to shop at Gut Busters.”
“Then we’d better take separate cars,” Renie said. “I’ll meet you at Gut Busters, eleven-fifteen.”
Joe returned home shortly after six.
“You can barbecue the shish kebabs,” Judith said, still petulant. “The grill’s ready to go. I just got the guests settled in for the social hour. What did you find out at the Alhambra? Or is it a deep, dark secret?”
Joe made a face at Judith. “I’m not keeping secrets from you, Jude-girl. But in point of fact, I didn’t find much. The bureau was empty.”
“Completely empty?” Judith pressed.
“That’s right,” Joe said, taking a beer out of the fridge. “Cleaned out. Vacant. Zero. Unless,” he went on, opening the cupboard to the liquor cabinet and pointing to Judith’s favorite Scotch, “you count the remnants of a long-ago sachet.�
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Judith looked up at the bottle on the top shelf. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, feeling perverse. “I’d rather have a Bloody Mary. I’ll fix it myself. You always forget I don’t like olives. I prefer an asparagus spear, not celery.”
“Okay.” Resignedly, Joe put on his chef’s apron, picked up his heat-proof mitts, and headed for the backyard. Ordinarily, Joe loved to cook, but upon this occasion, he seemed to move on feet of lead.
Sweetums came in as Joe went out. Judith rushed to the phone and dialed Renie’s number. The cat wove in and out between Judith’s ankles, mewing piteously. The call trunked over to the Joneses’ voice messaging after the fourth ring.
“Damn!” Judith exclaimed under her breath. It was between six and seven. Bill and Renie had a law at their house, prohibiting phone calls during the dinner hour. Judith left a message, asking Renie to call her back ASAP. Sweetums collapsed on the floor, paws outstretched, eyes closed. He appeared to be dead.
“So Mother didn’t feed you again,” Judith said, stepping over the cat and going out to the pantry. “How about some of Martha Stewpot’s Gourmet for Cats? It’s all the rage.”
Sweetums liked the new dish just fine. Judith watched him devour the entire can and wash it down with a few swigs of milk.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” she murmured, and wished that Renie would call back soon.
“I have to run an errand with Renie,” Judith said as she and Joe finished dinner on the patio.
“On a Sunday night?” Joe looked perplexed.
Judith nodded vigorously. “It has something to do with the brochure she’s designing for the art museum’s upcoming Native American exhibit. She didn’t have time to explain, but she needs me to come along.”
“Okay,” Joe said. “Don’t be late. There are a couple of good movies on TV tonight.”
“Good movies” to Joe meant Clint Eastwood or John Wayne. “I won’t be long,” Judith assured him breezily as Gertrude appeared in the toolshed doorway.
“Hey, dummies,” she called, waving a bamboo shish kebab skewer. “How do you expect me to eat this stick with my dentures?”