by Mary Daheim
“Have you called the police?” Joe asked, his voice very calm.
Jeremy shook his head. His boyish features seemed to have aged overnight. “I thought the police wouldn’t act until somebody was missing for at least forty-eight hours. That’s why I’m here. I want you to find her. I’ll pay extra, I promise.”
Joe grimaced. “I’m inclined to go along with the police on this. But I can start a search. The airport, the bus depot, the train station. I take it your brother didn’t find any signs of violence at the apartment?”
Jeremy shook his head as he accepted the second drink from Judith. “Nothing was disturbed. Nan is a very neat person, so it’d be noticeable if there’d been any…mess.”
“Okay.” Joe got up and went over to the peg where his jacket was hanging. He got out a notebook and returned to the table. “Let’s get the basics. I haven’t met Nan, so I don’t know what she looks like. How about a description?”
Jeremy offered a rough verbal sketch of Nan Leech. “Five-ten, a hundred and fifty pounds, maybe more, blue eyes, kind of short blond hair, maybe touched up, late fifties, not bad-looking, but nothing that stands out.”
“That’s not a lot of help,” Joe noted, “but it’s a start. But before I begin checking, I’d like to know why you think Nan might have been murdered.”
With a motion so jerky that he almost knocked over his drink, Jeremy raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “Why not? George hired an exorcist who got killed. Maybe somebody’s out to sabotage both of us. One by one, we’ll all get killed.”
Joe shook his head. “That’s not likely. Is there any connection, however remote, between Nan Leech and Aimee Carrabas?”
“I don’t think they ever met,” Jeremy admitted. “But doesn’t it seem weird to you that Mrs. Carrabas gets murdered and then Nan disappears?”
“The explanation may be very simple,” Joe said. “It often is, with missing persons. Does Nan have family around here?”
“No,” Jeremy said. “She was originally from L.A. I think her folks are dead. She never mentioned any brothers or sisters. Of course, she’s only worked for me a short time. George would know more about her background.”
“She sold real estate before she worked for George,” Judith put in. “Her family moved west during the Depression. I believe they came from Texas.”
Joe shot his wife an admiring glance. “As usual, my lovely spouse knows more about a virtual stranger than people who’ve been long-time acquaintances. She has a knack.” He reached out and patted Judith on the hip.
Judith gave Joe what she hoped was a grateful smile. “It’s a wild guess, but could there be a California connection between the two women?”
“It’s a big state,” Joe said, the gold flecks dancing in his green eyes. “How long has it been since Nan lived there?”
“I think Nan said twenty-five years,” Judith replied, going to the stove and checking on her casserole. “I realize it’s a long-shot.”
“Maybe she went back to California,” Joe suggested. “Or Texas. It could be some sort of family emergency. Did your brother—Dennis, is it?—look to see if her luggage was missing?”
“No.” Jeremy brightened, drank some more Scotch, and stood up. “That’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll go check out the condo right now. Dennis is a good kid, but he’s young and kind of flaky.”
Judith remembered Dennis and the stunt with the ghost costume. “He’ll grow up. They all do.”
Joe had also gotten to his feet. “Let me come along with you,” he said to Jeremy. “I’ll follow in my car.”
Judith started to protest that Joe should wait until after dinner, but the front doorbell rang again. As Joe led Jeremy out the back way, she ushered in the last guests who’d arrived in an airport shuttle. They were tired, cranky, and full of complaints, especially about the long flight from Miami.
“Too many delays,” the husband grumbled.
“Terrible food,” the wife groused.
“Ugly flight attendants,” said the husband. “They looked like men.”
“They were men,” the wife snapped. “Honestly, Elwood, you really should get your eyes checked…”
Judith tuned them out on the way up the stairs. She had other things on her mind, such as the possibility of Nan Leech and Aimee Carrabas somehow being connected. Yet she couldn’t see how. Mrs. Carrabas had never been in the city before; Nan had left the Los Angeles area a quarter of a century earlier. Millions and millions of people lived in and around L.A. The chances of the two women knowing each other were extremely remote.
After getting the newcomers settled, Judith returned to the kitchen to get out the appetizers. She set the oven back some fifty degrees and went out to inform her mother that dinner would be a little late.
“How late?” Gertrude demanded. “It’s already going on six. You know I like my supper at five.”
Judith didn’t want to chew on that old bone of contention. “Joe’s working. He should be back within the hour. If you’re really that hungry, I can serve your dinner sooner.”
“Supper,” Gertrude said stubbornly. “Dinner was at noon in my day. Did you forget we used to lived on a farm?”
“No, Mother,” Judith responded docilely. “But you didn’t live there very long.”
“My father raised cows and chickens,” Gertrude said, suddenly looking very faraway. “The cows were poor milk producers. My mother said my father’s hands were always too cold. The chickens were Rhode Island Reds. Good eating, those chickens. But dumb.” With effort, she turned to look at Judith. “Did I ever tell you how dumb chickens are? They’re almost as dumb as the men you keep marrying.”
“Thanks, Mother,” Judith said dryly.
Gertrude’s eyes narrowed. “Where’d that big chicken go?”
“What big chicken?” Judith hoped her mother wasn’t referring to Joe.
“The one that was in the backyard the other day,” Gertrude said. “It could’ve fed twenty people.”
“That was an ostrich,” Judith said. “As far as I know, he’s still on the loose.”
“Are we having ostrich for supper?” Gertrude asked, her wrinkled face a mask of confusion.
“No, Mother,” Judith replied gently. “I made a seafood casserole and a green salad. I’ll heat up some garlic bread, too.”
“Your father loves garlic,” Gertrude said. “It’s a wonder he doesn’t put garlic on his mush.”
Her mother’s use of the present tense worried Judith. “Uncle Cliff was the opposite. He hated garlic. He said it made him sick.”
“Your Uncle Cliff has some weird ideas sometimes,” Gertrude said. “All those contraptions he makes. Like the catapult to pick apples. It served him right when it backfired and hit him in the head.”
Judith’s smile was tremulous. She vividly recalled some of Cliff Grover’s so-called contraptions, a few of which actually worked. “I’ll go check on the casserole,” she said, heading for the door.
“Don’t forget to pull down the blackout shades,” Gertrude called out. “Your father and Uncle Cliff left early tonight on their air raid watch.”
“Okay.” Judith quietly closed the door. Her mother seemed worse tonight. Before now, Judith didn’t recall Gertrude’s mind going back to the war. Maybe it was something in the air, triggered by her own preoccupation with the 1940s. Slowly, she returned to the house. In some ways, she wished she could remember the era as clearly as her mother did. But Judith wasn’t quite four years old when peace finally came. She recalled very little, and even that only in small, isolated snatches.
Joe got home just before six-thirty. By then, Judith had not only served Gertrude, but spent a few minutes with the guests during their social hour. The couple from Miami was still complaining; the twins from Chicago were enthusiasts; the other four guests seemed a bit stand-offish, though Judith eventually managed to draw them into the general conversation.
“Well?” Judith said as she and Joe sat down at the kitchen table. “D
id Nan do a bunk?”
“It’s hard to tell,” Joe replied. “Jeremy’s brother was right about the place being undisturbed. There were two suitcases in a hall closet, but there was space for at least one or two more. The fridge had some staples, but nothing that looked as if Nan was expecting to fix a meal soon. Apparently, her mail had been taken in yesterday, but not today, which indicates she was home some time Tuesday. There were a couple of bills on her desk postmarked Monday.”
“What about clothes?” Judith inquired, passing the salad dressing to Joe.
“It’s hard to tell with you women,” Joe said, tasting the casserole and giving Judith a thumbs-up sign. “Nan wasn’t much of a clothes horse, but I couldn’t determine if she’d taken anything out of her closet or drawers.”
“Did you find anything personal?” Judith asked. “That is, anything that might lead you to think Nan was frightened or in trouble?”
“From what I did or didn’t find,” Joe said with a little shake of his head, “Nan Leech is She of the Blameless Life. Which is what worries me.”
“Worries you?” Judith repeated. “Why?”
“I think the same has been said of Aimee Carrabas,” Joe noted thoughtfully. “An ordinary person, unless you consider being an exorcist out of the ordinary.”
“I do, in a way,” Judith put in.
“But not in a negative way,” Joe pointed out. “She performed a service, like a dry cleaner or a chimney sweep. You’ve got an evil spirit, Aimee Carrabas will rid you of it. Would you kill her if she failed?”
“Probably not,” Judith said. “Anyway, her failures, if there were any, would have been in California.”
“Right.” Joe bit off a chunk of warm garlic bread. “So,” he went on after a pause, “that doesn’t seem to be a motive for murdering her here. She had yet to perform her exorcism.”
“You’re saying someone didn’t want to rid the Alhambra of whatever supposed evil was there?”
“No,” Joe said. “What I’m saying is that we have one victim who seemingly hasn’t done anything to provoke murder. Now we have a second woman who is equally blameless and she’s disappeared. You have to wonder what, if any, is the connection.”
Judith’s eyes widened. “You think Nan really may be dead?”
“I won’t go that far,” Joe said. “But what I think is that Nan may be afraid for her life. I’d like to know why.”
Judith wanted to know why Nan should be so frightened, too. The woman hadn’t struck her as someone who’d be easily scared. Nan Leech was too cool, too detached, too self-sufficient. The problem bothered Judith all evening and into the following morning.
Joe, meanwhile, asked Woody to start an official search. Since Nan had been on the scene at the time of Mrs. Carrabas’s murder, there was no official balking at the request. Indeed, Woody had considered Nan’s disappearance more suspicious than frightening. He told Joe that perhaps she should be considered a suspect.
“Do you agree?” Judith asked Joe before he went off on his appointed rounds Thursday morning.
Joe didn’t respond right away. “It’s always an attention grabber when a witness goes to ground. But in my experience, it’s usually out of fear, not guilt. Nan may know something she isn’t telling us. Didn’t you say she was vague about how she’d heard of Mrs. Carrabas?”
“Yes,” Judith replied, loading the dishwasher with the guests’ breakfast things. “It had to do with a phone message left on her desk. And though she wasn’t clear how it got there, her confusion was convincing.”
Joe gave a nod. “I’ve been looking at that alleged message all along. It’s the only direct connection between Mrs. Carrabas and any of the people who were at the Alhambra at the time of the killing.”
“Unless,” Judith pointed out, “Mrs. Carrabas used to be Mrs. Holmes.”
Joe wiggled a reddish eyebrow at Judith. “Could Ms. Leech have been Mrs. Holmes?”
Judith admitted she hadn’t considered the possibility. “Nan’s my height, my build, but blond. Rufus wouldn’t know that Nan probably dyed her hair in later years. He might expect to see a gray-haired woman.” She touched her own short salt-and-pepper locks just as the phone rang.
“Mrs. Flynn?” inquired a woman’s businesslike voice at the other end. “Are you the owner of Hillside Manor?”
“Yes,” Judith answered. “Are you calling about a reservation?”
“No,” said the woman. “I’m calling from Norway General Hospital. We have a patient here who may know you.”
“Who?” Judith asked, immediately thinking of Mike. Attacked by an irate camper. Struck by a falling tree. Mauled by a grizzly bear. Forest rangers lived with danger. Judith began to panic.
“His name is Alfred Ashe,” the voice said calmly.
Relief was replaced by surprise. “He wants to see me?”
“He doesn’t want anything at the moment,” the voice said. “Alfred Ashe is in a coma.”
THIRTEEN
JOE HAD ALREADY started out the back door. Judith got his attention by banging a teaspoon on the table. He turned with a curious expression, then shut the screen door and waited.
“Let me get this straight, ma’am,” Judith said for Joe’s benefit. “Alfred Ashe is in a coma at Norway General. You must have found Hillside Manor’s number on his person. What on earth happened to poor Alfred?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” the woman responded, sounding rather pleased with herself. “At present, we need to establish Dr. Ashe’s medical coverage. We’re trying to reach a Hiroko Hasegawa in San Francisco who appears to be his next of kin. However, we’re told she’s unavailable this morning. Since he had your name and that of your establishment in his wallet, we thought you should be informed. Are you a relative?”
“Yes,” Judith said swiftly. “I’m his sister. Judith. Judith Ashe. Before I was married to Mr. Flynn. Please, tell me what happened to him.”
Joe was leaning against the doorjamb between the kitchen and the hallway. He let out a big sigh and shook his head in disbelief.
“Perhaps you’d better come to the hospital,” the woman said. “We can’t give out such information over the phone. Also, it would be better if you were here in person to help us sort out his coverage.”
“I’ll be right there,” Judith said, then rang off and rushed past Joe to get her jacket and purse. “Are you coming with me?” she asked over her shoulder.
“I hadn’t planned on it,” Joe said dryly. “I was going down to headquarters to check with Woody.”
“Maybe you’d better change your plans,” Judith said at the back door. “Something terrible must have happened to Alfred.”
“He certainly missed his plane,” Joe remarked. “Okay, but let’s go in separate cars. I still want to hook up with Woody.”
It took fifteen minutes to reach Norway General in the hospital district adjacent to downtown. It took ten more minutes to find parking places in the garage across the street. The Flynns rendezvoused at the main desk where they inquired after Alfred Ashe. He was on the fourth floor in the intensive care unit.
As soon as they got out of the elevator, Judith grabbed Joe’s arm. “Oh, dear—what will I do if they ask for ID? I can’t prove I’m Alfred’s sister.”
“That’s because you aren’t,” Joe said with a disapproving look. “Leave it to me. As a former cop and a private eye, I can pull some strings. But I wish to hell you’d stop telling such whoppers. Someday you’re going to get into serious trouble.”
“Joe…”
“Can it, Jude-girl. Here comes Nurse Ratchet.”
At first glance, the RN who approached the Flynns looked more like Mammy in Gone With the Wind than the villainess of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. The name tag on her large bosom read “J. Royce,” and on second thought, Judith didn’t think she looked nearly as kind as Hattie McDaniel.
Joe went into his act, flashing badges and licenses. J. Royce scrutinized the pair as if they were Scarlett and Rhett, b
ehaving badly.
“Nurse Glickman said Dr. Ashe’s sister was coming,” the nurse said in a deep, no-nonsense voice. “Where is she?”
“She couldn’t make it,” Judith said, and tried to hide behind Joe.
“I’m representing her,” Joe said, purposely stepping on Judith’s toe. “May we speak with the physician in charge?”
Nurse Royce eyed the couple suspiciously, then wordlessly walked away. A moment later Judith heard her voice booming over the intercom, paging Dr. Bentley.
Five minutes passed before a small man with glasses and thinning gray hair appeared from the end of the hall. J. Royce, who was manning the nurses’ station, looked up and nodded at Judith and Joe. The doctor approached and held out his hand.
“Dr. Bentley,” he said by way of introduction. “You’re…?”
Joe went through his routine again, concluding with a question: “Has my former partner, homicide detective Woodrow Price, been informed of Dr. Ashe’s condition?”
“I heard he’s on his way,” Dr. Bentley replied. “Come, let’s go into the doctors’ lounge where we can speak privately.” He took a brief detour to the nurses’ station. “Thank you, Jolene,” he said in a deferential manner. Judith guessed that everyone deferred to Jolene Royce. Or else.
The lounge was empty, and Judith was surprised to detect the faint odor of cigarette smoke. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. Doctors didn’t always practice what they preached.
“Let me get this straight,” Dr. Bentley began, a glimmer of excitement in his keen blue eyes. “Mr. Flynn, I understand from the police that you’ve been hired to investigate a murder. I’d like to cooperate in any way I can.” The glimmer seemed to become more vivid. “I must confess, I’ve never been involved in a homicide before.”
Joe explained, in precise terms, how he’d been asked to work on the Carrabas case. He also made it clear that his connection with the official investigation was solid.
“Woody, my former partner, still picks my brains,” Joe said without false modesty. “We worked as a team for over ten years.”