by Mary Daheim
“You’re back,” he said in a flat voice.
“We’re doing a little scouting for Joe, my husband,” Judith said. “He wants my cousin—she’s an artist—to make a floor plan.”
“Detective Price already did that,” Petrovich put in. “Why can’t Mr. Flynn use that one?”
“He forgot to get it copied,” Judith fibbed. For all she knew, the floor plan was already tucked away in Joe’s file. “It won’t take us long.”
“That’s what you said before.” Petrovich sighed. “Okay, okay. I suppose I shouldn’t mess with Detective Flynn’s wife.”
“You shouldn’t,” Judith responded. “He may be retired, but he still has friends on the force. Like Woody Price, his former partner.”
Petrovich turned pugnacious. “Is that a threat?”
“No, of course not,” Judith said in mock horror. “I just meant that you wouldn’t want any hurt feelings.”
“That’s true,” Petrovich admitted. “Okay, Larry here can go in with you this time.”
Once again, the cousins headed for the second floor, though Judith insisted on using the elevator to spare her aching hips. The open hallway was alight, but Apartment 204 lay in darkness. Petrovich hit the switch.
In 204, the Meacham apartment, the cousins revisited the site of the grisly discovery in the wall. The floor plan was similar to that of 303, where Mrs. Carrabas had been found, except that the former Meacham unit had two bedrooms. The living room wall on the left where Dorothy’s body had been found was only partially destroyed. Recalling the position of the coat closet in 303, Judith turned to Renie:
“I’ll bet Harry sealed Dorothy up in the closet, removed the door, and put in a new wall. It wouldn’t be that hard. Harry was training to be an engineer. Maybe he’d had some kind of carpentry experience in the army.”
“While Anne-Marie stayed with the O’Dowds?” Renie suggested.
“We’ll ask them that,” Judith said as they moved on to the next unit.
Swanson trailed after the cousins as they proceeded to Apartment 205. “I don’t know who lived in some of these other units, but this one,” Judith said, relieved to find that the door swung open at a touch, “belonged to the Schnells.”
“So they were right next to the Meachams,” Renie said.
“That’s right. But they never heard anything, like quarrels or throwing each other across the room,” Judith said as Swanson turned on the lights.
The former Schnell unit had been stripped, which figured, since Helen had moved out all of her belongings. One of the walls had been removed between the living room and the kitchen, and a new window was being framed over what apparently had been the sink. There were no fixtures or appliances; plaster dust floated on the air like spring pollen.
The rugs were gone, too. So was at least half the kitchen floor. Judith stared down into a dark hole about the size of a big bathtub.
“I wonder…” she murmured.
Renie eyed her curiously. “What?”
“Never mind,” Judith said under her breath. “Later.”
The remaining unit on the second floor was empty. “The Hasegawas, way back when,” Judith murmured with a sad shake of her head.
The cousins and Officer Swanson had come back to where they started, by the elevator.
As if on cue, Renie glanced at Judith. “We may as well check out the other units, just so I can get an idea of how to identify them on the floor plan.”
“I’d like a look at the third floor myself,” Judith said to Swanson. “Do you mind?”
“Nope,” Swanson replied. “It gives me something to do besides stand around like a statue.”
“No problems? No intruders?” Judith asked casually as they got into the elevator.
“Not really,” Swanson replied. “Just some kids trying to sneak in to look at the courtyard last night. I guess the day shift caught some guy poking around today before we came on at six.”
“Oh?” Judith said as they exited the elevator. “What did he want?”
“He wanted in,” Swanson replied as they stood in front of Apartment 301. “Some of the construction guys were here. They’re allowed to work in certain areas the police have either searched or figure don’t count, like the courtyard. Anyway, one of them found this man lurking around and told him to take a hike.”
“Was he homeless?” Renie inquired as they stepped into another empty unit.
“No,” Swanson said. “I heard he was a well-dressed middle-aged guy carrying an attaché case.”
Judith and Renie exchanged quick glances. “Did he say why he was snooping?” Judith asked.
Swanson shrugged. “I think he said something about being interested in buying one of the condos. He seemed harmless, so the uniforms on duty let him go.”
“When was that?” Judith asked.
“Umm…” Swanson’s high forehead furrowed under his regulation hat. “Not long before we came aboard. Five o’clock, maybe? I think it was just before the construction crew knocked off, which is about then.”
“Alfred Ashe,” Judith whispered to Renie as they peeked into Apartment 302. “By the way, the O’Dowds lived in 301.”
“Got it,” Renie said. “What about this one?”
Apartment 302 was also empty, but untouched by the wrecking ball. “Ah…I forget,” Judith said. “Oh—a woman named Turner, somebody’s executive secretary. That was in the forties. The O’Dowds said the pot-smoking girls were in here before the big move.”
Nothing in 303 seemed to have been moved since the cousins’ previous visit. With Renie trailing, Judith poked her head into each room, then returned to the living room. After glancing into the closet where she’d found Renie hiding, Judith went across the room to where the treasure had supposedly been found. The carpet was rolled back no more than two feet, with a gaping hole half that size where the floorboards had been.
“This is the only part of the floor in this apartment that’s been torn up,” Judith whispered to Renie. “Joe and Woody both must realize this was a put-up job. The jewelry probably belongs to George’s mother.”
Rufus Holmes had lived in 304. Perhaps it was Judith’s imagination, but the empty unit seemed cold and lonely. She wondered if the atmosphere reflected the man himself. Recluse or not, Judith determined to see him the next day.
They went on to the last two units on the floor, where they found only a minimum of destruction. Apartment 305 had belonged to the Whiffels. Judith half-expected to see old lady Whiffel’s ghost, smashing whiskey barrels and melting down poker chips. The former Baines apartment, 306, showed no signs of Emil’s occupancy. If the ostrich had tried to bury his head in the carpet, repairs had been made.
“Is that it?” Swanson asked, making an effort to conceal his boredom.
“Yes,” Judith said as they crossed over to the elevator. “Thanks very much.” Waiting for the car, she turned to Renie. “This is fascinating, a microcosm of life in the past fifty years. Twice that long, if we knew more about it. Take that last apartment on two,” she went on as the elevator doors opened. “That’s a sad story in itself.”
Swanson let out a wide, deep yawn. Judith made a face behind his back, but took the hint. “Later,” she said to Renie.
It was only about three minutes later that the cousins got into the Subaru and Judith was able to relate the tragic account of the Hasegawa family.
“They were shipped off to one of those horrible internment camps,” she said, starting the car. “Doesn’t that just make you wild?”
“It’s one of the sorriest episodes in American history,” Renie declared, “not to mention just plain stupid. Did you know that while all the West Coast Japanese were being rounded up, they never did anything about the ones who lived in Hawaii? Not that they should have, but the islands were much closer to Japan. The whole thing defies common sense.”
“I was a baby when it happened,” Judith said, “but my dad raved about it all during the war.”
“Idio
cy,” Renie asserted. “Dumb as a bag of dirt. So what happened to the poor Hasegawas?”
“I don’t know,” Judith said as they headed back up the steep hill.
“You don’t know? That’s the story? Sheesh.” Renie shook her head.
“Okay, okay,” Judith said, “let’s move on.”
“You have no choice,” Renie said dryly. “Your short story was really short.”
“So why is Alfred Ashe being chased by somebody with deadly intentions, why is he holed up at Hillside Manor, and why was he found lurking around the Alhambra this afternoon?”
Renie sighed. “I can’t answer the first question. Come to think of it, I can’t answer the second or the third, either. Can you?”
“He’s interested in that jewelry,” Judith said. “He admits that much. He’s a collector. But the jewelry isn’t at the Alhambra, the police took it. Maybe somebody else is after the jewelry, too. They want Alfred out of the way. He’s hiding at the B&B because he doesn’t want to leave town yet. Is any of this making sense?”
Judith had pulled into the parking lot of the local convenience store, just a few steps away from where Renie had parked her car. “It makes some sense,” Renie said. “But Alfred isn’t from around here. Didn’t you mention that this is his first visit to the city?”
“That’s what he said,” Judith responded. “It may not be true. But he’s such a cute little guy with those dimples and long eyelashes. I have to admit, I find him rather endearing.”
“I’m sure he knows that,” Renie said. “Men always do. Confront him, tell him you’re on to him. With all that cute stuff going on, at least he doesn’t look dangerous.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Judith said. “Haven’t we met a few so-called harmless types before and then they turned out to be homicidal maniacs?”
“One or two, maybe,” Renie admitted. “Hey, got to run. Bill will begin to think I don’t love him anymore.”
Judith held up a hand. “Wait. One other thing. That hole in the Schnell kitchen—it gave me an idea.”
“Okay, let’s hear it,” Renie said, one hand on the door lever.
“If,” Judith said, “and it’s a big if—that jewelry wasn’t found in the unit where Mrs. Carrabas was killed, it might—a big might—have been found somewhere else in the building. Why not in the floor of Helen Schnell’s former apartment?”
Renie scratched her head. “It might have been. It might also have come from Grandma Guthrie’s jewel case or a pawnshop downtown or at the bottom of the ocean on a sunken Spanish galleon. Next question.”
“Scoff if you will,” Judith said, her jaw set in a hard line. “But tomorrow, I’m going to get the truth out of George Guthrie, even if it kills me.”
Renie opened the car door and swung her legs out. But before she got out, she gave Judith one last look. “Given your past history, coz, that’s exactly what might happen.”
NINE
JUDITH WAS AS good as her word. After Joe left to pursue his investigations and Phyliss Rackley showed up to start cleaning the house, Judith headed out to the industrial part of town to call on George Guthrie. Since Guthrie Properties was located only a short way from Gut Busters, she planned to use the discount warehouse as her excuse for being in the neighborhood.
The company headquarters was located in a nondescript two-story building. Chain-link fences protected the heavy equipment and vehicles out back. Once inside, the open office area looked modern and well-designed. Judith had called ahead, making sure that George would be in. She hadn’t given her name.
A young man with a clean-shaven head and a single silver earring looked up from what appeared to be the receptionist’s desk. “May I help you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Judith said with a smile. “I’d like to see George for a minute, if he’s free.”
The young man smiled back. “May I give your name?”
“Tell him it’s Mrs. Flynn,” Judith replied. “My husband is working for him on the Alhambra homicide.”
Briefly, the young man looked disturbed. “Terrible,” he murmured, pressing a button somewhere on his desk. “Mrs. Flynn to see you, Mr. Guthrie.”
Judith couldn’t hear George’s response, but the young man was frowning. “No, I realize she doesn’t have an—Yes, Mr. Guthrie…Of course.”
With a raised hand, Judith forestalled the receptionist. “Tell George it’s okay if he doesn’t want to see me. But ask him why he moved the treasure from the Schnell apartment to the one where I found the corpse.”
The young man paled. “You…found…the…?”
Judith nodded. “Just ask him, please.”
Somewhat timorously, the receptionist passed the question on to his employer. A moment later, George Guthrie jerked open a door at the far end of the long, partitioned room.
“Come in,” he said in an angry voice.
“Good morning,” Judith said, walking between the cubicles where employees worked at computers and talked on telephones. “I was on my way to Gut Busters, and I—”
“Wanted to upset me,” George grumbled, closing the door behind them. “Sit down, but it’ll have to be quick. How did you know we moved the gold and silver stuff?”
Judith’s eyes roamed around the large, well-appointed office with its mahogany desk and mounted sailfish trophy. “You should have torn up more of the floor in 303,” she said lightly. “That was a dead giveaway. I’m surprised the media didn’t catch on.”
“They did,” George said with a scowl. “At least Liz Ogilvy figured it out. But she’s keeping her mouth shut. A treasure’s a treasure, and anyway, the murder sort of buried the treasure. So to speak.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Judith said calmly. “Or did you already tell Woody and Joe?”
“No,” George sighed. “I didn’t see any point. In fact, I sort of forgot. A dead body tends to put the small stuff out of your mind.” He paused and picked up a coffee mug bearing the Guthrie Properties logo. “The old Schnell unit was already torn up pretty bad. It wasn’t a proper setting for an exorcism, just like the Meacham apartment wouldn’t have worked as well. I had to pick a unit where we hadn’t done much damage yet. We couldn’t use any of the first floor because my guys were working there. The third floor was best because 303 was in decent shape. That’s all there is to it.”
The explanation’s logic made sense to Judith. “So you really did find the gold and silver in the old Schnell unit?”
Guthrie nodded. “It was in the kitchen. I hear the cops are still waiting to get more information from the experts. If they can date that stuff, then we’ll have some idea of when it was put there.”
“The Schnells have lived in 205 since around 1930,” Judith pointed out. “Have you asked Helen about it?”
“Hell, no,” George retorted. “What if it’s not hers? What if it goes back to when the place was first built over ninety years ago? She might try to claim it anyway. That wouldn’t be right. If possible, the stuff should be returned to the rightful owner. Or at least the owner’s heirs. That’s another reason the old Irwin unit in 303 was a better site. They’re long-gone.” George scowled at Judith. “You weren’t going to mention any of this to Helen Schnell, were you?”
“No,” Judith responded, “though Helen strikes me as an honest woman.”
George laughed without humor. “Mrs. Flynn, if you’d been in the property management and construction business as long as I have, you’d know there is no such thing as an honest woman—or an honest man. Everybody’s out to get something for nothing. A bigger bathtub here, a higher grade of glass there, a couple of more light fixtures in the ceiling—all for the original quote. Hell, most people would chisel you out of a handful of nails if they thought they could get them for free.”
Judith didn’t doubt the lessons of George’s experience. “So Helen doesn’t know,” she murmured.
“And won’t, as far as I’m concerned,” George declared. “Just keep your mouth shut about
it, okay? If that stuff’s hers, wouldn’t she have had it removed before she left the apartment house?”
Judith conceded that George had a point. “One other thing,” she said. “Could you give me Rufus Holmes’s temporary address?”
George looked suspicious. “What for?”
Judith shrugged. “Joe asked me to get it,” she lied.
“Okay,” George said. “Rory has it someplace.”
“Rory?”
“My secretary-receptionist, the one you were talking to. He replaced Nan Leech,” George explained.
Judith rose from the chair. “I understand Nan worked for you a long time.”
“Over twenty years,” George said. “I’d just taken over the business from my dad. He got his start during the postwar building boom. Nan had been selling real estate, and she was sick of it, so I hired her. I guess she got burned out here, too. But a quarter of a century is a long time to stick with one job.”
“Yes,” Judith said, “almost a quarter of a century can seem like an eon.” It was how long she’d been apart from Joe. It might as well have been a lifetime. “Thanks, George,” Judith said, heading for the door. “I appreciate your candor.”
“Sure,” George said with a wave of his hand. “Oh—by the way—one curious thing which might help date that treasure.”
“Yes?” Judith said, turning in the doorway.
“I noticed something weird about a pair of silver earrings in that chest,” George said. “They had swastikas on them.”
Rory provided Judith with Rufus Holmes’s current address, which was in an old hotel in the historic lower part of downtown. Having visions of a four-story walk-up, she also got Rufus’s number and called him from a pay phone on the street by the parking lot.
A gruff voice answered on the third ring. It turned out not to be Rufus, but the desk clerk.
“He don’t have no phone in his room,” the voice growled. “Wanna leave a message?”
Judith hesitated. “Yes,” she finally said. “Tell him I’ll meet him at the Commercial Café in twenty minutes. Breakfast is on me.”