by Mary Daheim
“I understand,” Judith said. “But give it a try, anyway. Your memory, that is.”
“Sure.” Renie headed for the back door. “I’ve got to go to work, at least for a couple of hours. What’s your next move?”
“Helen Schnell,” Judith said promptly. “I’m going to invite her over to see the B&B. She may be lonesome.”
“What about Rufus Holmes?” Renie inquired. “Have you thought about checking on his marital history, brief though it may be?”
“Yes, but that’s a trip to the county courthouse,” Judith replied, removing the shrimp from the microwave. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
As Renie went out, Sweetums came in. He’d apparently been taking a nap, since the first dry leaves of the season were entangled in his fur. Judith leaned down to remove them, but Sweetums snarled and waved his claws in a menacing gesture.
“Keep it up,” she warned. “Maybe Emil will eat you. Ha-ha.”
Sweetums showed disdain for Emil as he slunk off to his food dish by the pantry. Judith could hear the cat noisily slurping up his food as she dialed Helen Schnell’s number.
Helen was delighted by the invitation. She’d been about to leave for the bookstore on top of the hill, and would stop by on her way back.
Judith got out a loaf of frozen cinnamon bread and put the tea kettle on. A few moments later, Alfred Ashe called to her from the entry hall.
“Dr. Ashe,” Judith said, hurrying to greet him, “I mean, Alfred. Hi. What’s new?”
Alfred’s usual amiable demeanor was absent, replaced by a stony glower. “The American government ought to be ashamed of itself. I’ve booked a flight on a five o’clock plane back to San Francisco. It seems I’ve been on a wild goose chase.” He tipped his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. “There are all kinds of crooks in this world, aren’t there? Maybe murder is the only just retribution.”
To Judith’s dismay, Alfred stomped upstairs without another word.
TWELVE
JUDITH WAS ON the phone taking a reservation when Alfred Ashe slammed out of Hillside Manor. He’d left his credit card number, so at least he hadn’t stiffed Judith out of the money he owed her. She was still wondering what had set the usually good-natured chiropractor off when Helen Schnell arrived, driving an old but well-tended Chevrolet sedan. Judith gave her the brief tour first, since it was going on four o’clock and guests might be arriving soon.
“This is a lovely old home,” Helen enthused as they sat down to tea in the front parlor. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen it tucked away in this cul-de-sac.”
“The setting is ideal for a guest house,” Judith said. “It’s quiet and relatively private. After my first husband died, my mother was living here alone so I moved in with her. She really couldn’t cope with such a large place anymore, and my son, Mike, was starting college so I decided to put the property to work for us. The mortgage had been paid off years ago by my grandparents. The major expenses went to update the kitchen with modern appliances and expand the attic into family quarters. Happily, it’s turned out well. The first of this year, I made the last payment on the major renovation loan.”
Helen nodded with approval as she accepted a piece of cinnamon bread from Judith. “Yes, that must be a good feeling. I’m glad I’ve been of a saving nature all these years. My monthly payment for the condo won’t be any more than my rent, and I’ll have more space. Not that I really need it at my age.”
“Did either of your parents teach?” Judith inquired in an offhand manner.
“No,” Helen replied, applying a small amount of butter to her cinnamon bread. “You know how it was in those days. Wives tended to stay home. Mother was quite deft at embroidery. She even sold some of her work to the local stores.”
“And your father?” Judith kept her voice casual.
“He was in the import-export business,” Helen answered, nibbling daintily on the cinnamon bread. “He made a good living.”
“You know,” Judith said, her manner growing more confidential, “we have mutual acquaintances. The Whiffels. I understand you and Jewel are good friends.”
“Jewel.” Helen smiled fondly. “She’s quite a character, isn’t she? Next to your father, she was my favorite colleague. Never a dull moment with Jewel.”
“Really.” Judith tried to sound enthusiastic. “I decided to call her today. It had been so long since we chatted. My cousin’s mother—my Aunt Deb—used to work for Mr. Whiffel.”
“I daresay!” Helen beamed at Judith. “What a coincidence.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Judith agreed. “Jewel said something about a tragedy concerning your father. Now let me think…”
The color, or what there was of it, drained from Helen’s face and her fingers tightened on her teacup. “What did she say?”
“That he’d been shot by someone,” Judith replied. “I thought she meant in the war, but that wasn’t the case. Goodness, I couldn’t quite figure it out. Jewel is a bit…muddled sometimes.”
“Yes,” Helen said, nodding vigorously, “she is. Of course, she’s over ninety. I marvel that her mind is as good as it is. Why, just the other day we were talking about a student we’d both had some thirty years ago, and she recalled that he’d…”
Judith listened patiently. When the anecdote, which also seemed to include Helen’s philosophy of education, finally wound down, Judith decided to throw tact out the window.
“How did your father get shot? It must have been terrible.”
Helen set the teacup down on the side table and put both hands to her breast. “Shot? Is that what Jewel told you? Oh, my—she’s confused. My father was hit by a streetcar.”
Undoubtedly, Jewel’s mind had been playing tricks on her. Judith was sympathetic with Helen’s tragedy. “That’s awful. Did it happen in the neighborhood?”
“Yes.” Helen looked away, toward the stone fireplace. “At the bottom of the hill. Right by the bus stop in front of the arena.”
“I’m so sorry,” Judith said, and was at a loss for words.
“Mother and I managed,” Helen went on, speaking more rapidly than usual. “We had his life insurance and our savings. Luckily, I had a scholarship all the way through the university.”
“Very lucky,” Judith remarked.
“We lived simply, even after I graduated and was teaching,” Helen said, picking up her teacup again. “Mother continued sewing until her hands got crippled with arthritis.”
The conversation wasn’t going anywhere. Or maybe it had gone far enough. Judith was temporarily saved by the front doorbell. She excused herself to answer it, and spent the next ten minutes welcoming middle-aged twin sisters from Chicago.
“Sorry,” she apologized again to Helen. “The guests usually start coming around this time.”
“Oh, dear,” Helen said. “I should be going.”
“No need.” Judith smiled. “As long as you don’t mind the interruptions.”
“Well…” Helen eyed the teapot and the slices of cinnamon bread, which Judith readily proffered. “Thank you so much. I was curious, I must admit. How is your husband doing with the homicide investigation?”
“Slowly,” Judith responded, pouring more tea for herself and carefully hiding her surprise at the question. “I gather it’s the same with the police. Joe’s working closely with them, you see. It’s his former partner who’s the primary.”
“Primary?” Helen’s smile was puckish. “As opposed to secondary? As in grade levels? Oh, excuse me—I must have my little education jokes.”
Very little, thought Judith, but managed a chuckle that unfortunately sounded like “ar, ar, ar.” “It means he’s the lead officer. It’s like trial lawyers—first and second chair.”
“Yes, of course.” Helen took a rather large bite of cinnamon bread and waited until she’d finished chewing before speaking again. “It’s odd, but I haven’t read much in the news about that treasure they found.”
“I suppose it wasn’t really a treasure,” J
udith said with what she hoped was a discreet yet probing glance at her guest. “It was probably costume jewelry or something like that.”
“Really?” Helen’s long, plain face showed surprise. “Then why would anyone hide such a thing?”
“Who knows? People are odd sometimes.”
“Still…” Helen stopped herself, then uttered an uncharacteristically girlish laugh. “I was hoping it would be something romantic, like stolen Nazi plunder that may have been intended for return to the original owners.”
“Stolen by whom?” Judith asked.
Helen looked startled. “By whom? I couldn’t say. Soldiers, I suppose.”
“Soldiers who served in Europe?” Judith suggested. “Did anyone in the building serve there besides Harry Meacham?”
Helen ruffled her short gray hair. “Let me think. People who had a loved one in the service put a small flag in the windows overlooking the courtyard. They had a star to represent the person.”
Judith didn’t remember, but she’d heard Renie mention the two stars her grandparents had had, for Uncle Corky and Uncle Al. She did, however, remember Grandpa and Grandma Grover’s pride. And their fears. Grandpa suffered a nervous breakdown during the war, and had been hauled off, as Auntie Vance had bluntly put it, to the loony bin. Judith was aware that there were more casualties in World War Two than those on the battlefield.
“On our floor,” Helen was saying, “there was Harry Meacham. Oh, and the Quesnells—one of the girls was a WAC and her brother was a Seabee. There were two brothers on five who went into the Marines in the South Pacific. One came back, the other didn’t. Mr. Evans on four served in the Coast Guard. On the first floor, Mr. Harrison was in the army, in Europe, but he was killed in the Battle of the Bulge. He left a darling little boy nicknamed Skipper who became an orthopedic surgeon. That’s all I remember.”
“That’s quite remarkable,” Judith said.
“Not really.” Helen sighed. “I was old enough to understand what was going on, right from the start of the war. Children paid attention to what was happening. You had to, your whole life was changed, even on the home front.”
“Do you remember the Hasegawas?” Judith asked.
Helen’s face grew even longer, and a faint spot of color appeared in each cheek. “I certainly do. That was a shameful thing. Such lovely people, and sent off like criminals. I wonder whatever became of them.”
Judith didn’t comment. “One other thing I was curious about,” she said, offering the teapot again. “I heard that Rufus Holmes was briefly married. Whatever happened?”
“Rufus.” Helen shook her head. “Who knows? I never saw his wife. He’d been on a trip, which was very rare for him, but I think it was one of those annual stockholder meetings. He made all his money in the market, so once in a while he’d attend an annual meeting in New York or San Francisco or Chicago. Rufus is very opinionated, and I suppose he had something he felt the company officials ought to hear. Anyway, this time he was gone for two or three months. When he returned, Mrs. Folger—the woman who used to own the Alhambra—said she thought he’d gotten married but it hadn’t worked out. No wonder. Rufus is a very odd duck.”
“That was when?” Judith asked.
Helen thought for a moment. “Twenty years ago, perhaps more. Yes, I’m sure it was the late seventies, shortly before divestiture.”
“Divestiture?” Judith echoed as the doorbell rang again.
“Yes, the phone company,” Helen said hurriedly as Judith stood up. “We had some AT&T stock, but Rufus had Pacific Tel & Tel. He probably went to San Francisco for the annual meeting.”
By the time Judith had greeted her latest guests, an older couple from Missouri, the twins were leaving for a stroll through the neighborhood. Waving them off, she turned to see Helen in the entry hall.
“I really must go,” Helen said. “It’s been delightful. I’d never seen Mr. Grover’s family home before. I always tried to imagine where he lived. Somehow, I pictured a vine-covered brick cottage with his dear wife—he always called her his ‘dear wife’—baking constantly.”
Judith tried not to wince. Somehow, Helen’s image of Donald and Gertrude Grover was skewed. Gertrude had baked twice a year, at Christmas and for Auntie Vance’s birthday. In fact, she’d stopped baking the requested angel food cake twenty-odd years ago when Auntie Vance had declared it tasted like the devil. The cake had ended up on the floor, the ceiling, and all over Uncle Corky.
After bidding her guest good-bye, Judith returned to the kitchen. She thought about calling Renie, decided against bothering her cousin, who was probably still working, and sat down at the table to think. Alfred Ashe was very interested in the treasure. Perhaps Rufus Holmes was, too, which was why he’d come back to the Alhambra. Helen had expressed a mild curiosity as well. The treasure had been found in the floor of her former unit. Was it possible that she didn’t know it was there? And if she didn’t, why not?
Because, Judith reasoned, she hadn’t put it there. Someone else had, maybe one of her parents. And why was Helen lying about how her father had died?
Judith couldn’t stand it. She grabbed the phone and dialed Renie’s number.
“Of course you’re not nuts,” Renie said after briefly chewing her cousin out for interrupting an alleged moment of genius. “I don’t remember exactly what was on the site of the arena, but the original basketball venue wasn’t built until the early sixties.”
“Thus, Mr. Schnell couldn’t have been hit by a streetcar there in 1945,” Judith said. “Helen blurted out the first thing she could think of.”
“The bus line didn’t go that route back then,” Renie said. “It followed the old streetcar lines a block over, on Heraldsgate Avenue. Furthermore, all the streetcars were retired not long after the war started. The buses use the main avenue now and the one by the arena because of the one-way streets. But traffic wasn’t rerouted until the sixties.”
“Good point,” said Judith. “I’ll bet Mr. Schnell was shot by the police and Helen is ashamed. Do you suppose he was a crook?”
“Usually, if not always, people who get shot by the cops are crooks,” Renie noted.
“What kind of crook?” Judith asked.
“Crook crooks,” Renie said, sounding irritated. “What do you mean?”
“Crooks who flee,” Judith said reasonably. “Bank robbers. Burglars. Muggers. In short, people committing some kind of larceny, perhaps while armed.”
“What about murderers?” Renie said.
“No. Not as a rule,” Judith responded slowly. “Unless they’ve killed a cop.” Her ears pricked up as she heard Joe’s MG in the drive. “Jiggers, it’s the cops. Or ex-cop. Joe’s home. I’ll talk to you later.”
Judith had Joe’s drink fixed before he came through the back door. She greeted him with a big kiss and an extra hug. Naturally, Joe was suspicious.
“Tired of mucking around in a fifty-year old murder, Jude-girl?” he said with a grin. “Want to pick my brains or merely seduce me?”
“Both,” Judith replied, helping him with his summer-weight jacket. “You do the first thing first, and the second one later. If I get the first thing, that is.”
“That’s bribery,” Joe said with a mock frown.
“Come on, Joe,” Judith coaxed, “you said you’d share.”
“I did. I will.” Joe eased himself into his captain’s chair. “How about you? Anything new?”
“Dr. Ashe left in a huff,” Judith said. “He was angry about the government.”
“Which government?” Joe asked, taking a sip of Scotch.
“I’m not sure,” Judith replied, sitting down across from Joe. “Generic government, maybe.”
Joe shrugged. “Everybody’s mad at the government. Maybe he’s fighting with Medicare over chiropractic coverage.”
“Well,” Judith said, listening for the oven timer to sound off so she could start baking her seafood casserole, “I’ll admit, I concentrated on the Meachams. But there are a coup
le of odd things that might be connected.”
Judith told Joe about Rufus Holmes’s brief marriage and how Liz Ogilvy might have seen him at the Alhambra about the time of the murder. Joe evinced mild interest. She went on to tell him about Helen Schnell’s father.
“I called Woody to check on it, but he wasn’t in,” Judith said as the front doorbell rang. “Hang on, that’s probably the last of the guests. They were flying in from Miami.”
It wasn’t the guests but a harried-looking Jeremy Lamar. “Where’s Mr. Flynn?” he asked in a breathless voice.
“In the kitchen,” Judith said. “I’ll go get—”
Before she could finish, Jeremy flew past her, across the entry hall, and through the dining room. She caught up with him as he collapsed into the kitchen chair she’d just vacated.
“I’m worried,” Jeremy said. “Nan Leech has been missing since yesterday. I’m afraid she might have been murdered, too.”
Joe offered to make Jeremy a drink. He readily accepted. “Take it easy,” Joe said, reaching for the second-best Scotch. “What makes you think something’s happened to Nan?”
Jeremy jumped out of the chair and grabbed the glass before Joe could add ice. “Nan is the most dependable person in the world,” Jeremy declared after taking a big gulp of Scotch. “Ask George Guthrie. She never missed a day all the years she worked for him. Suddenly she doesn’t show up for work this morning. She didn’t call, so I phoned her around ten.” Jeremy paused and took another swig. “There was no answer, not even a machine. I sent my brother, Dennis, over to her condo but there was no sign of her, even though her car was in the parking area. Dennis had the manager open the door, but no sign of Nan. It’s not like her, I tell you. She’s utterly reliable.” He gulped down the rest of the Scotch and held the empty glass out to Judith.