by Mary Daheim
It was at that exact moment that Nurse Royce ushered Woody Price and Sancha Rael into the lounge. Greetings were exchanged, introductions made, and coffee offered from an old-fashioned four-gallon stainless steel coffee maker.
“Detective Price,” Dr. Bentley said, his excitement still evident, “maybe you should start. I don’t think Mr. Flynn knows what happened to Dr. Ashe.”
Judith was bursting. Balancing a coffee mug in her lap, she leaned forward on the leatherette sofa to listen to Woody’s account.
“I got a call the minute I stepped into the office at eight o’clock this morning,” Woody began in his rich, soft baritone. “The night shift uniforms at the Alhambra had been making their last rounds before they went off duty at seven A.M.” He paused to glance in the doctor’s direction. “We don’t keep officers at the murder site while the construction crew is working. In fact, we were going to pull them off as of today. Until this happened, anyway.”
“I left an order for a pair of uniforms to show up at five,” Sancha said, apparently not wanting to be left out.
Woody nodded. “Good, Sancha. In any event, when they got to the second floor, the officers found Dr. Ashe unconscious in the former Schnell unit. He’d been struck on the back of the head. An ambulance was called, and he was brought here around seven-thirty.” Woody again looked at Dr. Bentley. “How is he doing, Doctor?”
“He’s still unconscious,” the physician replied. “There was enormous trauma to the back of the skull. However, patients have been known to recover from such a blow. It just takes time.”
“How did he get into the building?” Joe asked.
Woody heaved a disgusted sigh. “A little after midnight there was some sort of explosion nearby. The officers on duty rushed off to see what had happened. It was down at the corner, in some bushes. They found remnants of some illegal fireworks, apparently left over from the Fourth of July. They figured it was kids, so they didn’t give chase. Now, of course, we assume it was deliberately set off as a diversion so that Dr. Ashe—or someone else—could enter the apartment building.”
“You mean like the someone else who hit him on the head?” Judith put in.
Woody nodded. “Obviously, two people sneaked inside. Maybe they came together, maybe not.”
“Did you find a weapon?” Joe inquired.
Again, Woody nodded. “We think so. It was a clawhammer. The lab has it now.”
“Someone came prepared,” Judith murmured.
Woody gave her an off-center smile. “Dr. Ashe was the one who came prepared. He had his attaché case with him, and it was full of tools.”
Joe, Woody, and Sancha went off to confer at a nearby coffee shop. Judith could find out later what the trio had discussed. For now, she needed to think about her options. She was less than a mile from the city’s historic district, so she took a detour, driving past the Hairsley Arms Hotel that served as Rufus Holmes’s temporary address. In the soft morning sunlight, the building didn’t look so very threatening. Judith wondered if it would be safe to go inside and ask for Rufus.
She was still considering the possibility when two drunks staggered out of the front entrance. They immediately began to shove each other. Judith stepped on the gas and headed for Heraldsgate Hill. If she came back, it would be with Renie.
Renie. Could she pull off impersonating Alfred Ashe’s sister? Would she even try? Or, like Joe, would she chastise Judith for telling a big fat lie? It wouldn’t hurt to call Renie and ask.
“Now what?” Renie demanded. “It’s not even ten o’clock, I’m just achieving full consciousness. Aha! I found the coffeepot. Go away.”
Judith had pulled into the parking lot of a motel on the north side of downtown. She was in the lobby at a pay phone. Inspiration struck.
“You haven’t eaten breakfast?” she asked eagerly.
“Hell, no. I haven’t even tackled the concept. Maybe Bill can help me. Where is Bill?”
“I’ll treat you to breakfast in the coffee shop at the Six Pines Motel.”
Renie didn’t respond for several moments. “There has to be a catch.”
“There is,” Judith said ingenuously. “Aren’t you curious?”
“Curiosity comes a long time after consciousness,” Renie said, then sighed in surrender. “Okay, give me twenty minutes to get dressed and drive down there.”
In that twenty minutes, Judith made another phone call, this time to Norway General. To her relief, a young, cheery voice answered the phone on the ICU floor.
“Nurse Millie here,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“This is Mrs. Flynn, Millie,” Judith began. “I was checking on Alfred Ashe this morning with my—”
The nurse giggled. “My last name is Millie, but that’s okay. You can call me Lily. That’s my first name.”
“Lily Millie?” Judith said. “That’s…cute.”
“It’s my married name,” the nurse replied. “My husband’s first name is Dolph.”
“Oh,” Judith said, grateful that his name wasn’t Billy. “Anyway, my husband and I met with Dr. Bentley and the investigating officers on Dr. Ashe’s case. As we were leaving, I heard Nurse Royce mention something about Alfred—Dr. Ashe—having some personal effects. I wonder if I could come by with his sister to collect them for safekeeping.”
“Gosh,” Lily Millie said in a worried voice, “I think the police took everything with them. Let me ask Nurse Royce.”
Judith hung her head. She knew Woody would have collected most of Alfred’s belongings as possible evidence. But she’d held out hope that he’d taken only obvious items, such as the attaché case that had probably held the hammer which had been used as an assault weapon.
“I’m really sorry,” Nurse Millie said, back on the line. “That nice policeman took everything. All that’s left is a little scrap of paper I found when I shook out Dr. Ashe’s trousers. Shall I throw it away?”
“No,” Judith burst out. “That is, hang on to it, please. It’s probably nothing, but his sister might want it.”
“I’ve got it here under a paperweight,” Lily Millie said. “If I’m not on the floor, feel free to take it, okay?”
“Yes. Of course. Thanks very much.” Judith hung up, and dialed Renie’s number again. This time the only answer was her cousin’s voice messaging. Renie must have already left.
Judith met Renie in the parking lot. “How about brunch?” she asked in a sheepish voice. “We have to hurry up to the hospital.”
“What for?” Renie asked in a querulous tone. “I’m starving.”
“Don’t you want to know why we’re going to the hospital?”
Renie shook her head. “Not unless they’re treating me for malnutrition.”
“Okay, okay,” Judith snapped, also growing testy. “Here’s the deal…”
She had gotten halfway through the explanation before Renie made a slashing motion with her hand.
“Stop. I get it. Alas. I’m supposed to be Alfred’s sister and find a message under a paperweight. I’ll do it, but we’re heading straight for the nearest Stacks o’ Flapjacks afterward. I believe that would be about four blocks away from Norway General. I’ll meet you there. Order me the silver dollar pancakes with a side of ham and one egg over easy. Bye.” Renie recklessly reversed and roared out of the motel parking lot.
Renie’s order was just arriving when she staggered into Stacks o’ Flapjacks almost half an hour later. Judith stared at her cousin, who looked disheveled and out of breath. There was a big tear in Renie’s Wisconsin Badger tee shirt and the strap on one of her sandals was broken.
“Here,” Renie said, slapping a wrinkled piece of paper down on the Formica tabletop. “I hope you’re satisfied.”
“What happened?” Judith asked, wide-eyed.
“I went one-on-one with somebody named Royce. I lost.” Renie began gobbling silver dollar pancakes.
“You didn’t lose this,” Judith said, picking up the slip of paper which was yellow with age
and sent off a damp aroma.
“True. I stuffed it down my front. Royce assaulted me just afterward.”
“Are you all right?” Judith asked, still aghast.
“Do I look all right?” Renie swallowed a pancake virtually whole. “I should have checked myself into emergency.”
“Exactly what happened?” Judith inquired, guilt flowing over her in much the same way that Renie was pouring syrup on her hotcakes.
“I told you,” Renie said. “I was at the desk. I grabbed the note. Nurse Royce came along and looked as if she were going to grab me. In my rush to escape, I put my foot in the wastebasket, and fell over—right into Nurse Royce. She must have thought I was on the attack.” Renie’s brown eyes grew very wide. “The next thing that happened was really gruesome.”
“What?” Judith demanded, her eyes as wide as Renie’s.
“She picked me up by the scruff of the neck and tried to jam me all the way into the wastebasket. I got stuck. She picked me up again, wastebasket and all, and threw me into the recycling bin. At that point, the only thing sticking out was my feet. Were my feet,” Renie corrected herself. “Nurse Royce stomped off and I had one hell of a time getting out of that damned bin. I hope they don’t keep body parts in that thing. Do I smell funny?”
“No, no, of course not,” Judith assured her cousin. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, you’re not. At least I didn’t have to pretend I was Alfred’s sister. Man, Nurse Royce is one tough momma.”
“I really am sorry,” Judith insisted. “I should have done it myself.”
“Yes, you should,” Renie replied, pointing at the piece of paper with her fork. “So did I offer my poor small body up in vain?”
Judith smoothed the paper out on the table. It was faintly lined, and looked as if it had come out of a small notebook. “Hunh. This is interesting. It says…Here, read it for yourself.” She shoved the paper in Renie’s direction.
104—Graingers?
201—Hedstrom OK
102—McMillan
304—Holmes?
206—Hasegawa OK
505—Paretti
Cavendish Court #5, #9
Sound View Apts. 208 & 412
The Montana 1-C, 1-E, 3-B
Below the list, which had faded with age, was a single name, written in a different, and much fresher hand: Meacham.
“It’s apartment houses and units,” Renie said, returning the slip of paper to Judith. “Any idea what it means?”
“Maybe,” Judith replied, again studying the list. “The first set of numbers must be for the Alhambra, since the Hasegawas and Rufus Holmes—or Rufus and his parents—are on it. Do the other three names sound familiar?”
“You mean the ones that sound like other apartments?” Renie asked. “Yes, they do. The Montana is still there on Heraldsgate Avenue. You’ve driven past it a zillion times. Cavendish Court is now condos. It’s about halfway up the hill, east of the avenue. I’m not sure about the Sound View Apartments. They may be gone. I vaguely remember that building as being at the bottom of the hill where so much of the old stuff has been torn down.”
“I do know the Montana,” Judith said. “It’s sort of California Mission style, with trailing vines growing over the balconies. So this could simply be a list of apartments that, say, someone looking for a place to live might keep.”
Renie picked up the paper and sniffed. “They’d keep it for almost sixty years? Isn’t that how you’d date it? The Hasegawas got hauled off in forty-two.”
“Obviously,” Judith said, “it wasn’t kept in a usual place for such things. Otherwise, the paper wouldn’t be so beat-up or smell like mold. I figure that Alfred found it while he was searching the Schnell apartment.”
“And why would Alfred be doing such a thing?” Renie inquired, polishing off her egg.
“Notice who isn’t on this list,” Judith said. “The Whiffels, for example. The Meachams. The Schnells.”
“But you think Alfred found that piece of paper in the Schnell apartment?”
“Yes. I’m willing to bet he found it under the floor, where the so-called treasure was hidden.” Judith sat back in the booth, arms folded across her chest. “Maybe my usual logic has deserted me, but see if this sounds too crazy. The Whiffels aren’t on that list because they were incredible tightwads who saved every dime they earned. Tell me, did you ever see anything in their apartment that was worth stealing?”
“Never,” Renie replied, a glimmer of comprehension showing in her eyes. “It was all cheap furniture and almost-dead houseplants.”
“What did I say earlier about the kind of crook who gets shot by the cops? Someone who is fleeing, right?”
Renie grinned. “Like a robber?”
Judith gave a single nod. “Like that. Interestingly enough, at least two of these buildings—the Alhambra and the Montana—have balconies for easy cat burglar access. By the way, could the Sound View Apartments have stood where the basketball arena is now located?”
Renie thought for a moment. “You’re right. That was where they were and that was why they were torn down.”
“Okay.” Judith picked up the slip of paper and waved it at Renie. “I’m almost certain that Mr. Schnell was a burglar. He was shot fleeing from the police after he tried to knock over the Sound View Apartments. What do you think about that, coz?”
Renie was silent for a few moments while she finished her breakfast. “About those swastikas,” she finally said.
“Huh?”
“They aren’t Nazi swastikas,” Renie said. “I’ve been doing this Native American jewelry display, right? I meant to bring this up earlier, but we got interrupted. The swastika had been used by several ethnic groups before the Nazis glommed onto it. I’ll bet those silver pieces came from the Navajos or some other tribe in the Southwest. It may have been purchased by somebody who liked the style. That type of Native American jewelry is extremely popular. It can also be very expensive.”
Judith looked bemused. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Even you can’t think of everything,” Renie said drolly. “So we’ve fingered Mr. Schnell as a burglar. Does Helen know it?”
“She must,” Judith replied. “Frankly, she sounded sort of iffy when I asked her what her father did for a living. Import-export, she said. In a way, that’s right. Mr. Schnell would import something from somebody else’s home, and export it to a fence for profit.”
“The gold and silver must have been leftovers,” Renie noted. “That stuff probably had been under the floor since Schnell got whacked.”
“No wonder Helen hasn’t put in a claim,” Judith remarked. “Even if she knew it was there, she doesn’t want the cops asking where the jewelry came from.”
“So who conked poor Alfred over the head?” Renie inquired. “Helen?”
Judith winced. “It’s possible. But I hate to think it. I like Helen. It’s not her fault her father was a crook.”
“You don’t know for sure that he was a crook,” Renie pointed out.
“I’ll find out,” Judith replied. “Joe was going to search the records today.”
The check arrived. Renie flipped it to Judith. “Thanks. That was tasty.”
“My pleasure,” Judith said, calculating the tip. “Now let me tell you how to get to our next stop.”
Renie drew back in the booth. “What next stop?”
“The Hairsley Arms Hotel,” Judith replied. “Unfortunately, several letters are missing from the sign. All you’ll see is HAIR___Y ARM_ HO_EL.”
“That’s disgusting,” Renie declared. “I just finished eating. I’m not going to any such place. I’m going home to dust.”
Judith waved the bill at Renie. “I bought you, remember?”
“You bought me to get beat up by Nurse Royce,” Renie reminded her cousin. “Now you want to double-dip?”
“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” Judith said, gazing at the ceiling.
“Forget it,” Renie snapped, o
n her feet and heading for the exit.
Judith was right behind her. “I’ll buy lunch at Papaya Pete’s.”
“I just ate.” Renie kept going.
Judith threw a ten and a five down by the cash register and hurried as fast as her hips would permit. “Wait!” she yelled to Renie, who was unlocking the Camry’s door. “Let me explain.”
Renie opened the car door but didn’t get in. “Okay, okay. What idiotic idea have you got now?”
“Rufus Holmes,” Judith said, and proceeded to explain why she felt she needed reinforcements before calling on him in his temporary residence.
“You don’t need me,” Renie insisted. “You need a gun.”
“Please, coz…”
“Damn!” Renie slapped her hands together, then flinched. “Ow! I forgot that I hurt in various places after wrestling with Royce. Okay, I’ll meet you there. What do we do, park on the street and watch our cars get stripped?”
Judith explained that there was a garage about two blocks away. Ten minutes later, the cousins were walking in the direction of Rufus’s hotel.
“When do we get panhandled?” Renie asked. “Where are the perverts? The muggers? The armed lunatics who assault innocent passersby?”
“It’s not that bad,” Judith retorted. “In fact, here’s the café where I waited for Rufus. It’s quite respectable, even somewhat trendy, I believe.”
Renie paused to peer through the window. “You’re right, people are dressed and everything in there.”
“Of course,” Judith said, glancing inside. “If I recall correctly, Joe and Woody used to—Hey! There’s Rufus!”
Rufus Holmes sat near the back of the restaurant at a small wooden table. He appeared absorbed in a book, his back turned to the half-dozen customers seated at the counter. Judith dashed through the door and marched straight up to her prey.
“Rufus,” she said, sitting down in the vacant chair across from him, “are you all right? I was so worried about you the other day when you passed out.”
Rufus took off his glasses and peered closely at Judith. “Who are you?” he demanded, then clutched at his throat with long, thin fingers. “You’re not…?”