by Mary Daheim
“One last question,” Judith said. “Do you know anything about that jewelry chest that was found in the Alhambra?”
“The one they mentioned in the news?” Billy asked. “Not a thing. We sure never found anything tucked away in our apartment.”
“Except some mice,” Midge added. “They should have allowed cats. The cats would have gotten rid of the mice.”
“Cats,” Billy repeated. “C-A-T—”
“Thanks so much,” Judith interrupted again. “We really appreciate your help. As I said, I have a feeling the two murders may be connected. By the way, how long was it before Harry came back to stay at the apartment?”
“You mean after Dotty disappeared?” Midge said, with an inquiring glance for Billy. “What? A few weeks?”
Billy nodded. “He didn’t stay but a few days. The next thing we knew, he was gone without a word.”
“You’d have thought he’d have stopped by to thank us for having Anne-Marie,” Midge said. “At the time, I figured he was upset. But now…well, we don’t know if Harry really killed Dotty, do we?”
Judith blinked at Midge. “You’re right,” she said, faintly awed. “We don’t.”
TEN
JUDITH HAD FORGOTTEN all about Alfred Ashe. He hadn’t appeared for breakfast with the other guests, so she had assumed he was worn out from the previous day’s perilous adventures. It was hardly the first time that a guest had chosen to sleep in during a stay at the B&B.
After dropping Renie off, Judith was foiled in her attempt to hurry back home. The hill’s burgeoning population created a midday traffic jam throughout the commercial district. The neighborhood’s popularity had come at a high price that included more than soaring real estate sales.
“Drat,” Judith muttered as she passed Falstaff’s Grocery at two miles an hour. “Where do all these people come from?”
Joe’s cherished MG wasn’t in the driveway or the garage, so Judith assumed he hadn’t returned from his morning’s endeavors. Gertrude, however, was stumping along the garden path on her walker.
“Where’ve you been?” she snarled at Judith. “What time zone are you in? Right here, it’s one o’clock. My lunch is an hour late.”
“I know, Mother,” Judith said, hurrying to help the old lady up the back porch steps. “I’m sorry. I got waylaid.”
“By bandits, I hope,” Gertrude said with a sneer. “It’d serve you right. Where’s Lunkhead?”
“Please, Mother,” Judith begged, “can’t you call Joe by his name?”
“His name is Joe?” Gertrude looked puzzled. “What happened to Dan?”
“Dan died,” Judith said, wondering if her mother was feigning stupidity or was genuinely confused.
“He did, huh?” Gertrude said as they proceeded into the kitchen. “Did I go to the funeral?”
“We had a memorial at our former parish near Thurlow Street,” Judith said. “Dan was cremated.”
“Before or after he died?”
“Mother…”
Gertrude eased herself into a chair at the kitchen table. “You got any sardines? I’m in the mood for sardines, with sweet pickles.”
“I think I have both,” Judith said. “Let me check on something real quick, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll bet,” Gertrude mumbled as Judith hurried toward the back stairs.
The long, narrow flight not only winded Judith but made her hips ache even more. She paused for breath in the hallway, then proceeded the length of the house to reach Room Two. The door was closed. In Room Three, she heard Phyliss Rackley running the vacuum cleaner.
“Phyliss,” Judith called from the doorway. “Phyliss!” she called again, much louder.
Phyliss jumped and turned off the vacuum. “Great Jehoshaphat,” the cleaning woman cried. “You scared me. I thought at first you were Lucifer himself.”
“I’m not,” Judith said with a straight face. “Have you cleaned Room Two yet?”
Phyliss shook her head. “I started from the other end today, with Room Eight. Why are you asking?”
Judith explained that the guest in Room Two hadn’t shown up for breakfast, at least not before Judith had left Hillside Manor shortly after nine-thirty.
Phyliss perked up when Judith described Dr. Ashe. “You say he’s a chiropractor? Let me know when he wakes up. I’ve got a few body parts I’d like straightened out.”
Judith was afraid that Dr. Ashe might not be waking up at all. Warily, she returned to Room Two and knocked. There was no answer. Judith used her master key to open the door, but discovered that it was unlocked. Taking a deep breath, she gazed into the long, narrow room.
It was empty. The bed had been made. A suitcase and an overnight bag were stowed by the dresser. On the single pillow lay a note written with a black felt-tipped pen. Judith picked it up and read it swiftly.
“Mrs. Flynn—I’ve gone to the library. Do you have a vacancy for tonight? Thanks. Alfred Ashe, D.C.”
Judith heaved a sigh of relief. Alfred hadn’t gone to his eternal reward, only to the library. Room Two was vacant until Thursday, the unofficial jump start of the Labor Day weekend, when Hillside Manor would be completely filled.
Curiosity overcame her. Slowly easing down on her knees, she unzipped the overnight bag. It contained the usual items—a shaving kit, socks and underwear, a pair of corduroy bedroom slippers, a couple of health industry magazines.
Next, Judith opened the suitcase. More socks, more underwear, some shirts, two pairs of neatly folded slacks, a cardigan sweater, shoes in flannel bags, a brown leather belt, pajamas, and a bathrobe. Judith reached into the flat inner pocket and pulled out a lettersized manila envelope. The single word BACKGROUND was written with the same black felt-tipped pen that had been used on the note to Judith.
Gingerly, Judith slipped the dozen or so pages out of the envelope. They were copies of articles from various publications, mostly magazines, but also at least two encyclopedia pieces.
The subject was the internment of Japanese citizens during World War Two. In the corner of an article from a recent literary magazine was a notation written in a fine hand.
“I saw this today while I was waiting at the dentist’s. Thought you could read it on the plane. Hiroko.”
Judith put the articles back in the envelope, slid the envelope into the pocket, and closed the suitcase. Intrigued, she went downstairs to call Renie.
“What now?” Renie demanded in a crabby voice. “I’m trying to work here.”
“Sorry,” Judith apologized, though she didn’t sound like she meant it, “but I had to bounce an idea off of you.”
“Go ahead. I’ll hang up. Call me back later when you find out how far you can bounce it.”
“Coz…please.”
“Okay, okay.” Renie sighed. “Make it quick.”
Judith related what she’d found in Alfred’s suitcase. “What do you make of that?” she asked Renie.
“At least you didn’t find Alfred sticks up,” Renie remarked. “To be frank, I don’t make anything of it. Dr. Ashe is doing some research. Didn’t you say he’d gone to the library? What’s so weird?”
“He said he came here for a chiropractors’ meeting,” Judith said, annoyed by Renie’s lack of enthusiasm.
“So?”
“But he came prepared for something else,” Judith persisted. “He brought all these articles on the internment camps with him. Now he’s off to the library. I’ll bet that attaché case of his is stuffed with more information about the government’s shocking behavior toward the Japanese in this country.”
“You’re probably right,” Renie said with a yawn. “Not to mention his notes from the chiropractor conference. Boy, this is really fascinating. What next, X-rays of his patients?”
“Coz,” Judith said sharply, then stopped. “That attaché case…Could it have belonged to Mrs. Carrabas?”
“It could,” Renie replied with another yawn. “Or to—get this, it’s pretty wild—Dr. Ashe.”
“Okay, big mouth,” Judith said, as exasperated as Renie, “who is Hiroko?”
“Hiroko?” Renie sounded puzzled.
“The person who gave Alfred the article to read on the plane.”
“I don’t know. Who is Hiroko? That could be a song—‘Who is Hiroko? Who can she be? Tra-la-la…’” Renie sang in her perfectly dreadful off-key voice.
“Stop that or I’ll have to strangle you,” Judith commanded. “I think Hiroko could be Alfred’s receptionist or maybe another chiropractor.”
“Come on, coz,” Renie said, her patience just about gone, “what’s your point?”
“I’m not sure.” Judith’s voice had gone flat.
“Then stop bouncing.” Renie clicked off.
Judith was frustrated. She’d flunked her chance to meet Rufus Holmes, she was stymied in talking again to Helen Schnell because she couldn’t bring up the jewelry stash, and her vague suspicions about Alfred Ashe were nothing more than a wild guess. For almost an hour, she went through her afternoon routine like a robot, thoughts darting this way and that.
Then inspiration hit. Grabbing the phone, she dialed Aunt Deb’s number. The initial chitchat took at least five minutes, but Judith figured it was worth it. Finally, she was able to ask the question uppermost in her mind.
“Aunt Deb,” she said, “do either Mr. Whiffel or his sister have all their faculties?”
“Why, dear,” Aunt Deb replied in her kindly voice, “I’m not sure they ever did. Don’t you recall how I always said that Mr. Whiffel was difficult? He had so many queer ideas, especially about money and religion. It was very hard to get him to attend to business. As for his sister, Jewel, well, she was a retired guidance counselor for the schools, and had about as much common sense as a pigeon. I can only guess how many children she sent down the wrong path. Our prisons are probably full of them.”
“Where are the Whiffels living now that they moved out of the Alhambra?” Judith inquired.
“A Christian retirement home up near the hospital district,” Aunt Deb replied. “I’ve never been there, of course. You know how busy Renie is—she can’t seem to take her mother many places. Of course, it is hard for her to get me around in my wheelchair.”
Since Judith knew that Renie carted Aunt Deb to bridge, to lunch, to coffee klatches, and just about everything else except the sidelines of pro football games, Judith shouldn’t have spared her aunt any sympathy. Except that, being softhearted, Judith did.
“How would you like to visit them?” she asked.
“Really?” Aunt Deb sounded shocked. “Oh, dear—I don’t think so. It’s kind of you to offer, but Jewel is so deaf, and when I think of how stingy Mr. Whiffel always was, I get quite angry. Besides, they never wash their dishes. It’s disgusting. Renie practically threw up the last time we visited them at the Alhambra. But then you know how delicate Renie is.”
Judith’s eyelids fluttered in disbelief. Her cousin might be small, but she was about as delicate as a rhinoceros. “How long did the Whiffels live in the Alhambra?”
“Goodness, forever,” Aunt Deb replied. “I worked for Mr. Winston first, then he brought Ewart—Mr. Whiffel—into the practice right out of law school, not long before Renie was born. Even then, Ewart and Jewel and their mother were living at the Alhambra. Mr. Whiffel had died shortly before Ewart finished his law degree. Old Mrs. Whiffel was a tartar. She was such a religious fanatic that she used to send magazines to the office but only after she’d cut out the liquor and cigarette ads, which, in those days, didn’t leave much to read. Your Uncle Cliff used to always light up in front of Ewart. One time, he smoked two cigarettes at once. He’d forgotten he already had one going.”
“Maybe I’ll call them,” Judith murmured. A visit to the Whiffels was sounding less and less appealing.
“And gambling!” Aunt Deb exclaimed. “The whole family was dead-set against any kind of gambling. I remember one Friday night, Mr. Whiffel stopped by at our house to drop off some papers I needed to sign. We were playing six-handed pinochle—not for money, of course—and Mr. Whiffel practically had the fan-tods. I was a bit embarrassed, especially when your Uncle Cliff asked Mr. Whiffel if he’d like to play a hand. And of course your mother—you know what a card fiend she is—got her wallet out of her purse and threw a five dollar bill on the table. I must say,” Aunt Deb added with a sniff of contempt, “that was about the only time I ever saw Gertrude throw her money around. Really, Judith dear, she’s almost as big a skinflint as Mr. Whiffel.”
“I think I’ll call them,” Judith said, grateful to get a word in edgewise. “Do you have the number handy?”
“Yes, of course, it’s right in the address book I keep in the pocket of my wheelchair. I never know when I’ll feel like calling up an old friend.”
Like constantly, Judith thought, hearing the faint sound of her aunt rummaging around at the other end of the line.
“Jewel is quite crippled with arthritis, you know,” Aunt Deb was saying. “She doesn’t get out much anymore. I sympathize. The last time I spoke with her, she’d had a bad fall. She’d been out to lunch with Helen Schnell, a schoolteacher friend of hers, and Jewel said Helen was very careless about not hanging on to her tight enough when they were leaving the restaurant by the fountain in the foyer and poor Jewel landed right in the middle of the—”
“There’s someone at my door,” Judith said, interrupting her aunt and actually telling the truth. “Can I get that number?”
“Of course, dear, it’s…”
Judith hurriedly scribbled the Whiffels’ number on a piece of scratch paper, then carried the phone with her to the front door. “Thanks so much, Aunt Deb. Did you say Helen Schnell?”
“Yes, I did, dear. She taught with your father, I believe. Later, she was at one of the high schools where Jewel was the guidance counselor. Can you imagine what kind of advice Jewel must have given those poor young—”
“Talk to you later, Aunt Deb. Thanks so much.” Judith clicked off with one hand and opened the door with the other.
Alfred Ashe, wearing a sheepish expression, stood on the doormat. “I didn’t know if I should use my key during the day or just knock,” he said, the long eyelashes drooping.
“It’s not locked until evening,” Judith said with a small smile. “Did you find what you were looking for at the library?”
Alfred gestured with the attaché case. “I did. I went to the one downtown, and everyone was most helpful.”
“I used to be a librarian,” Judith remarked. “I still have several friends who work in the various libraries around the area. Most of us enjoy helping patrons. We learn while doing, and research is like detective work. I’m not up to speed on all the computer tricks or the databases. Was there anything they couldn’t find for you?”
“No,” Alfred replied, looking pleased as he flashed his dimples. “The main thing I wanted wasn’t that hard to find. Of course, they keep the old city directories on microfiche.”
“Yes,” Judith said slowly. “They did that even when I was still working as a librarian over ten years ago. How far back were you searching?”
“Ah…” Alfred’s glance shifted to the elephant foot umbrella stand. “Just before the Second World War.”
Judith forced a big smile. “Ancestor hunting, I’ll bet.”
Alfred’s eyes widened and swerved back to Judith’s face. “How did you know?”
Judith let out a little sigh. “Come into the living room, Dr. Ashe. We need to talk, especially if you’re going to stay with us another night. And yes, I do have a vacancy. But I’m just a trifle confused about what’s going on.”
“Well, really,” Alfred began, shifting the attaché case from one hand to the other. “It’s nothing, I merely—”
“Did anyone try to run you down today?” Judith asked over her shoulder.
Reluctantly, Alfred followed Judith into the living room and perched on the arm of one of the matching sofas. To Judith, it looked as if he were
poised for flight.
“Hiroko is from this area,” he said, gripping the attaché case with both hands. “She’s interested in her family. Yes, I guess you could say I’m on an ancestor hunt.”
“Hiroko?” Judith echoed.
“Yes,” Dr. Ashe replied with a lift of his head. “Hiroko Hasegawa.”
“Hasegawa?” Judith said in surprise. “Wasn’t there a family by that name who lived at the Alhambra many years ago?”
“Yes,” Alfred said, sounding tense. “That was her family, though she was born a few years later.”
Judith’s expression grew sympathetic. “They were sent to an internment camp, I heard.”
“That’s right.” Alfred’s expression was grim. “Can you imagine such an injustice in this country?”
Judith shook her head. “It was panic, I suppose, after Pearl Harbor was bombed. But that doesn’t excuse such stupidity. It’s very kind of you to help your friend.”
Alfred’s long lashes fluttered as he blinked several times in rapid succession. “My friend? Do you mean Hiroko?” He paused as Judith gave a nod. “Hiroko’s my wife.”
“Oh!” Judith exclaimed and smiled through her embarrassment. “You called her Hiroko Hasegawa, so I thought she must be—”
“She kept her maiden name,” Alfred interrupted. “She’s an attorney.”
“Is searching for Hiroko’s family your real reason for coming here?” Judith asked. “That is, you took the tour of the Alhambra and now you’re staying at Hillside Manor which is close by.”
“Let’s say I seized the opportunity,” Alfred replied, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa arm.
“Including an opportunity to go back to the Alhambra yesterday afternoon?” Judith inquired.
“Oh.” Alfred covered his mouth with his hand and looked out at Judith from under his long lashes. “How did you know?”
Judith tried to look mysterious. “I have my methods.”