by Mary Daheim
“Goodness.” Judith was flabbergasted. “You should have sent word in to me, and I’d have left to meet you someplace else.”
“No.” Renie’s short chin jutted as far as her physiognomy would permit. “It’s the principle of the thing.”
“The principle is worth almost two grand?” Judith shook her head in dismay. “That price tag is too high for me.”
“I need some new fall clothes,” Renie said with a shrug. “Where’s the waiter? The drinks around here seem to be flowing like glue.”
Judith decided to abandon the topic of Renie’s wardrobe extravagance, which always stupefied her anyway. As soon as they’d gotten the attention of their server and each ordered one of the house’s tropical specialties, Judith confronted Renie about the Heraldsgate Hill Historical Society.
“You were the one who was supposed to know all about the Alhambra and its background,” Judith declared. “Why didn’t you tell me about the society’s protest and the O’Dowds being members?”
Renie looked blank. “Because I didn’t know? Because the kid who used to deliver the weekly took Bill’s generous tips and enrolled at Harvard? Because we haven’t had a paper delivered in over a year? That reminds me, I should call circulation.”
“Oh,” Judith said, subdued. “I forgot you haven’t been getting the paper.”
“So did I,” Renie said, now hidden by the large menu. “Which is why I also keep forgetting to call. I always think of it at times like this, when phoning isn’t convenient. Then I forget again.”
Judith uttered a small sigh. “Okay, I forgive you. But this is very interesting about the O’Dowds—and others—who opposed Guthrie’s project from the get-go. It opens up a whole new line of possibilities.”
Renie waited to respond until the waiter had delivered their drinks. “A Papaya Pile Driver for you, miss,” he said to Judith, “and a Waikiki Whammy for you,” he added, setting a fruit-laden glass in front of Renie. “Didn’t I see you at the entrance much earlier, miss? You look very familiar and yet…” His voice trailed off.
“That was my evil twin,” Renie said. “The one who goes around violating dress codes and wins huge discrimination settlements against upscale restaurants.”
“Oh.” The waiter managed a faint smile. “Of course.” He bowed and left the table.
“Are you saying,” Renie began, “that some disgruntled historical society member knocked off Guthrie’s exorcist in a fit of pique?”
“Well…not exactly,” Judith temporized. “I guess I’m saying that what amounts to getting evicted could be a motive. I suppose,” she went on, deflating a bit, “that Woody has checked that out already. Joe hasn’t mentioned it, though. I’ll have to ask him when he gets home.”
“The O’Dowds weren’t the only ones,” Renie said after a lengthy pause.
“That’s true,” Judith agreed. “There were what? Thirty units more or less in the original floor plan? That means there may be several more disgruntled people.”
“That’s too many suspects,” Renie remarked. “You know I’m weak at math.”
“I’ll bet Woody is interviewing all of them,” Judith said, invigorated once more. “Why didn’t I think of this before? Murdering Mrs. Carrabas just might put a damper on George’s sales.”
“Haven’t you discovered that homicide is a marketing tool?” Renie asked dryly.
“No, I haven’t,” Judith retorted. “It’s a wonder that the fortune-teller’s murder didn’t sink me. I hadn’t been in business very long, and I was sure my reputation was ruined before I even had a reputation.”
“But it wasn’t,” Renie pointed out, devouring a slice of pineapple.
“No,” Judith admitted. “It brought attention to the B&B, even if it was the wrong kind. Still, it probably scared off some potential customers.”
“Maybe,” Renie allowed. “But there are people who actively search out inns that have a resident ghost.”
“I don’t claim to have one,” Judith declared. “Besides, there’s a big difference between a ghost and a recent homicide. Especially when another body had been discovered sealed up in the wall.”
“Okay,” Renie said. “I’ll give you that.”
The waiter approached to take their orders. “So,” Renie continued, after the cousins had both selected the chicken curry, “maybe some squeamish folks would look askance at the Alhambra as their next address. The prices certainly make me squeamish.”
“That’s not quite the motive I had in mind,” Judith said, wondering just how many different kinds of alcohol were in her Pile Driver. She could taste rum, gin, vodka, and something else. Maybe lighter fluid. If she ordered a second round, the bartender could use antifreeze and she wouldn’t know the difference. “I was thinking more of spite. You know, like with the O’Dowds. They might bump off Mrs. Carrabas just to embarrass George Guthrie as well as to slow condo sales.”
“That’s what I meant,” Renie said, somewhat vaguely. “Isn’t it? Hey, did I order a Whammy or a Double Whammy?”
“How should I know?” Judith responded in a rather testy tone. “I’d forgotten how strong these specialty drinks are.” She gazed around the dining room, which had almost emptied out at going on two o’clock. “Are those palm trees moving over there in the corner?”
“Those aren’t palm trees,” Renie replied. “They’re busboys.”
“Hunh.” Judith took another sip of her drink. “They’d better serve us pretty quick. I haven’t eaten since eight o’clock.”
“Here come the salads,” Renie said.
“That’s a dessert cart for the table with all the old ladies,” Judith countered.
Renie twisted around so far that she practically fell out of her chair. “What old ladies?”
Judith blinked. “I guess they aren’t old ladies. The white sails on those model ships look like hair.”
“So where’d our salads go?” Renie asked, awkwardly managing to face front again.
“I don’t know,” Judith admitted, then lowered her voice. “Let’s try to act dignified. You’ve already been thrown out of here once today.”
“Good idea,” Renie agreed, her eyes slightly crossed. “Dignity, I mean. You can’t go wrong with dignity.”
“Not at all,” Judith said, reaching for her glass and picking up the candleholder instead. “Oops!”
Renie giggled. “You might have set your face on fire. That would have been really funny.” She giggled some more.
“Hey!” Judith said in a stage whisper. “Let’s not tell them what I just saw by the entrance.”
“Which was what? I don’t think I can turn around again,” said Renie.
“A giant bird.” Judith looked very pleased with herself.
“Really.” Renie didn’t sound surprised.
Judith nodded solemnly. “It ran right through the foyer. It looked like—” She stopped, frowning in concentration. “It looked like Emil!” she cried in a more natural voice.
Both cousins stood up, almost knocking over the table. Just as they stared in the direction of the entrance, Emil raced by again, this time with a uniformed doorman in pursuit.
Renie made an uncoordinated gesture with one hand and sat down. “Let’s ignore Emil.”
Judith nodded again. “That’s smart. We won’t tell them we know Emil. They probably wouldn’t believe us.”
Renie winced as she half-fell into her chair. “Actually,” she said, somewhat subdued, “I think they would.”
By the time the cousins left Papaya Pete’s, they were sober. A large lunch and several cups of coffee had restored them. They did not, however, inquire after Emil. Perhaps he had been captured and finally returned to his owners. At least that’s what Judith and Renie wanted to believe.
For what was left of the afternoon, Judith turned into a dervish, trying to catch up with the work she’d missed while playing detective. One set of guests, a couple from Samoa, had arrived just ten minutes after she got back to the B&B. They would
be staying throughout the long Labor Day weekend, on the initial leg of a first-time visit to the United States.
The mail had brought not only the usual bills and circulars, but the first Christmas catalogue of the season. Judith grimaced and ditched it in a drawer.
Joe arrived home before five, looking tired. Judith poured him a cocktail, but stayed with the diet soda she’d been nursing for the last hour. After he’d begun to relax a bit, she quizzed him about his day.
Joe gave his wife a baleful look. “We missed Rufus Holmes at Fu Man Chew’s. He’s a regular there, and he always goes out the back door to avoid the crowds.”
Nothing really new had come out of the meeting with Woody and Sancha. “I went through the Alhambra again with them,” Joe said. “It definitely looks as if Alfred had been trying to pry up more floorboards. He’s still out of it, by the way.”
“Poor Alfred,” Judith said. “Have you any idea who hit him over the head?”
Joe looked enigmatic. “Do you?”
Judith flinched. “Well…I hate to say it, but I think it could have been Helen Schnell.”
“Good guess,” Joe said. “It was her old unit, her old man was a burglar, she has a reputation to uphold.”
“Did you talk to her?” Judith asked as the phone rang.
“Woody did,” Joe said. “Of course she denied it.”
“Of course.” Judith said hello into the phone.
Jeremy Lamar was at the other end, sounding chagrined. “Is Mr. Flynn there?”
“Yes, hold on,” Judith said, handing the receiver to Joe.
Joe propped the phone between his chin and shoulder. “Yes,” he said, then paused. “Really?” He winked at Judith. “Of course…No, but so far we’ve just done the routine checks…Sure. I’m pleased, too. Thanks, Jeremy.” Joe hung up.
“What was that all about?” Judith asked, sitting down at the table.
Joe grinned. “Nan Leech has been found. Apparently, she was never lost. According to her, she mentioned to Jeremy that she was taking a day or two off. She called him just before five today to see if there was anything she should know about in advance of coming into work tomorrow. Jeremy is very embarrassed. He says he simply didn’t hear Nan say anything about a vacation.”
“Do you believe her?” Judith asked. “Do you believe him?”
Joe shrugged. “I can’t say. Woody told me that apparently there was no sign of her at any of the usual checkpoints. That indicated she was still in town since her car was parked at her condo. Maybe she was with some guy.”
Judith shot her husband an arch little look. “Some guy like Alfred Ashe?”
Joe scowled. “I don’t see that. How do you figure?”
Judith raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know. It just popped into my head.”
“I’m sure Woody isn’t counting anybody out as a murder suspect,” Joe said. “He thinks—and I agree—that as far as Alfred is concerned, he agreed to meet someone at the Alhambra. That fireworks stunt allowed both of them to get inside the building.”
“And how did Alfred’s attacker get out?” Judith inquired.
Joe gave Judith a lopsided grin. “I was wondering when you’d ask that. The back way, I suppose. And don’t forget all those balconies. Let’s face it, the uniforms didn’t exactly make the rounds every fifteen minutes, at least not after the first night. An elephant could have sneaked in through the back.”
“Or an ostrich?” Judith remarked.
“That, too,” said Joe.
While Joe was watching a baseball game on TV, Judith called Renie around eight o’clock and brought her cousin up to date.
Renie yawned in Judith’s ear. “That’s it?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Judith shot back. “Especially the part about Nan Leech being okay.”
“Says who?”
Judith was taken aback. “Says Jeremy, her boss and concerned citizen.”
“You only have his word for it,” Renie noted. “Have you talked to Nan?”
“No,” Judith retorted, “but I could if I wanted to.”
“Then why don’t you? Maybe she’s not watching the ball game. I am.” Renie hung up.
Judith got mad. She hit the redial button.
“What now?” Renie growled. “I know it’s you, I have Caller ID.”
“And no manners,” Judith huffed. “Let me finish telling you about the canvass.”
“Canvas? You’re sleeping in a tent? Isn’t it a little late in the season for that?”
“This won’t take a minute,” Judith said, ignoring her cousin’s remarks. It actually took closer to two minutes to relate how Woody and Sancha had been interrogating former Alhambra tenants. “So,” Judith said in summation, “of the thirty people they’ve been able to talk to, all of them have alibis for the time of the murder. The police are still tracking down two others, but there’s no reason to consider them suspects…”
Instead of responding, Renie swore, using words she had learned at her seagoing father’s knee.
“What happened?” Judith asked in alarm.
“Bases juiced,” Renie snarled, “nobody out—and we still ended up stranding those guys. Two fanned and one infield fly.” There was more swearing.
“So far, there’s no indication of a vendetta against George Guthrie,” Judith said, stretching out her tired legs under the desk Joe had installed in the third floor family room. “There aren’t many serious suspects,” she added, idly going through the papers on Joe’s desk. “I mean, among the ex-tenants. The O’Dowds were on the scene, of course. So, perhaps, was Rufus Holmes.”
“I still say it’s a stretch from outraged tenant to homicidal nut,” Renie commented.
“I’m not arguing,” Judith said, noting that Joe’s Carrabas case file seemed remarkably empty. “It’s probably even a longer stretch from the Meacham killing to this one. Say, do you suppose Joe puts all his case data on disk?”
“I’m sure he would,” Renie said. “Why?”
“He’s only got this stuff organized in the last three months,” Judith said, quietly opening drawers and peering into the single filing cabinet. “I’ve been so busy with summer guests that I’ve never really looked at his setup. I should take more interest.”
Renie let out a shriek and then a cackle. “Double play. All right!”
Judith sighed. “It’s going to be a losing season. Calm down.”
“I’m calm. Where were we? Oh—well, you’ve never been that curious about his caseload until now,” Renie pointed out with a snicker. “How excited do you get over a missing Pomeranian named Yogurt?”
“It was Yeltsin,” Judith said. “And I’m not actually snooping.”
“Yes, you are. I’ll bet it’s all in the computer, both on the hard drive and on disk. There’s probably a secret word, something he could never forget, not even in his dreams.”
“Like ‘Judith’?”
“Like ‘Gertrude,’” said Renie and hung up.
Judith did call Nan Leech the next morning, after she’d gotten the guests taken care of and had greeted Phyliss Rackley. Nan was at her post, sounding efficient and irritable.
“You worried everyone,” Judith said, exuding empathy. “We thought something had happened to you.”
“Happened to me?” Nan sounded incredulous. “Why would you think that?”
“Well…one person is already dead and another has been assaulted,” Judith pointed out.
“Neither of those things pertain to me,” Nan declared. “Everybody needs an occasional break to attend to their personal lives. However, I was sorry to hear about Dr. Ashe. I understand he’s still in a coma this morning.”
“I hadn’t heard,” Judith said. “Poor man. Did you meet him during the tour?”
“Only after Mrs. Carrabas’s body had been found,” Nan replied, adding in an accusatory tone, “by you. While we were waiting to be interviewed by the police, Dr. Ashe kept asking both Jeremy and me a million questions. O
bviously, he had more than a passing interest in the Alhambra.”
“What was he asking about?” Judith inquired casually.
“Mainly the treasure,” Nan replied, sounding impatient. “I don’t remember exactly. It was chaos, trying to keep everybody calm and under control until the police could conclude their individual interviews. It’s no wonder I needed some time off.”
Judith decided to press her luck with Nan. “Did anything interesting come out of those interviews?”
“How would I know?” Nan retorted. “They were conducted in a separate room.”
“Of course,” Judith remarked. “Tell me, has the murder affected Jeremy’s tour business?”
“The mystery tour is full for the next three weeks and the Halloween tours are almost booked, too,” Nan said. “I have to say that the unfortunate death of Mrs. Carrabas has been a boon to business. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get down to just that. Business.”
Judith stood by the sink with the phone in her hand for several minutes. Aimee Carrabas’s homicide had been a plus for Jeremy Lamar, possibly a minus for George Guthrie. Was there a motive involved between cause and effect? Jeremy had benefited from the tragedy, at least in the short term. George, despite his initial idea to create publicity for his project, might suffer in the long run. But who would seek his misfortune by killing an innocent person?
“The Devil works in mysterious ways,” Phyliss Rackley announced as she entered the kitchen from the back stairs. “That furry four-legged Limb of Satan got into Room Two and shredded your lace curtains.”
“No!” Judith burst out. “Where is the little wretch?”
“Lucifer swept him up and carried him out the window,” Phyliss said.
“What?” Judith demanded, already halfway to the stairs.
Phyliss nodded solemnly. “He’s gone. He’s probably in the Fiery Furnace. Or the Boiling Cauldron. Good riddance, I say. Now maybe you and Mr. Flynn can still be saved. Your mother remains in doubt.”
With a dark look at Phyliss, Judith hurried up the stairs and down the hall to Room Two. Sure enough, the lace curtains were ripped in several places and the window was open. Over the years, Sweetums had been trained not to go onto the second floor and bother the guests. Or perhaps Judith was trained to keep an eye on the unruly cat when guests were in their rooms. The problem was that some of her clientele were cat lovers, and coaxed Sweetums upstairs. Or so Judith rationalized.