by Mary Daheim
Luckily, Geoff was in, apparently on his lunch break. He would be delighted to show Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Rankers through the Alhambra. Was Mrs. Rankers, by any chance, related to Cathy Rankers of Rankers & Rankers?
Judith explained that she was, but was only coming along for moral support. The hint of suspicion in Geoff’s voice didn’t quite disappear.
Arlene was ready in twenty minutes, not fifteen or thirty, as she had indicated. Though she had changed her clothes, there were a few patches of periwinkle-blue paint on her arms and hands.
“How do you like it?” Arlene asked as they headed for the bottom of the hill.
“It’s nice,” Judith said. “Soothing.”
“Really?” Arlene frowned. “I was hoping for something more disturbing. You know, so the guests want to leave sooner.”
“That isn’t exactly what I’d have in mind,” Judith remarked.
Arlene laughed. “No, of course not. But you know what Carl’s relatives are like. I love them to pieces, but I don’t much like being around them. Maybe we could add some red dots.”
Judith decided to get off the subject before they arrived at the Alhambra. “Tell me,” she said, respectful of Arlene’s vast network of neighborhood knowledge, “what do you know about the building and its tenants?”
Arlene’s pretty face looked downcast. “Not much, really. I’ve never been very interested in the bottom of the hill. I mean, you get down that far, and you’re not even exactly on the hill, are you? It’s kind of a no-man’sland. Some of the people around there go to Our Lady, Star of the Sea, some of the others go to the parish by the center. Then there are all those other people who aren’t Catholics. They can’t help it, of course, but it’s hard to keep track of them. It’s all very vague.”
Oddly enough, that made sense to Judith. Perhaps it was why she, too, tended to ignore happenings on the lower side of the hill. It was borderline commercial, and thus not a close-knit neighborhood.
“You have to remember,” Arlene was saying, “that Carl and I just got back yesterday. We didn’t plan to stay that long, but my cousin insisted we go to all the outlet malls around their place. He and his wife wanted to buy some more chickens.”
“At an outlet mall?” Judith asked in surprise.
Again, Arlene laughed. “No, no, Judith, of course not! At the poultry place. In fact, my cousin had ordered three dozen chickens. The only problem was, he didn’t specify that they should be alive. I guess he should have contacted the hatchery instead. Anyway, we stayed on to help them straighten out the mess. It’s a good thing they have a big freezer.”
The Guthrie construction crew was back on the job, and there was no sign of the police. Maybe Woody had finished with the Alhambra as a crime scene. It had been a week since the murder. He probably felt that the search had been as thorough as possible, given the building’s state of disarray.
Geoff Blitz, standing by a sleek Range Rover, was waiting for Judith and Arlene. He looked surprisingly young, though Judith knew he had to be in his thirties at least. No doubt the boyish quality in his handsome face helped sell real estate.
“I can only give you an overview of the property,” Geoff said after the introductions were concluded. “Most of the potential buyers just drive by to get a sense of the location and the structure itself. Here,” he said, reaching into the passenger seat of his Range Rover, “you’d better wear these hard hats.”
All three of them put on the hats. Judith thought hers was uncomfortable and heavy, maybe like wearing a football helmet. Still, if Alfred Ashe had worn one, perhaps he wouldn’t be lying in Norway General with a very sore head.
“So what we usually do,” Geoff said, leading the way into the noisy courtyard, “is look at the mock-ups at the office. We’ll stop there after we get through here.” He paused to shout a greeting at someone named Glenn, who may have been the foreman. “I’ll take you up to the second floor, where most of the initial renovations have already been made.”
“How are your sales running?” Arlene asked as they exited the elevator. Her curly red-gold head was turning in every direction but backward.
“Quite well,” Geoff answered. “Of course, it’s early days. So many people have no imagination when it comes to visualizing what the units will actually look like. Even the mock-ups don’t grab some of them.” The realtor winked at Judith. “I’m sure you’re not like that. I’ll bet you have plenty of imagination.”
“Ah…I guess I do,” Judith said, trying to avoid looking Geoff in the eye. “Could we view a unit with an eastern exposure?”
“Of course,” Geoff replied. “We’ll check out 205.”
“I wouldn’t think,” Arlene said as they headed along the open-sided corridor, “it’d be so easy to sell these places after those bodies were found.”
Judith winced. She hadn’t expected a frontal assault from Arlene. She should have known better.
Geoff chuckled in a careless manner. “People don’t read the newspapers these days, and they watch TV with half an eye. Everybody’s caught in their own little world, concentrating on keeping everybody else out. That’s why condos are so popular, I think. You may live cheek-by-jowl to your next-door neighbor, but if you’re lucky, you’ll never meet him—or her—in the elevator.”
Judith stared at Geoff. “Isn’t that kind of cynical for a salesman?”
Geoff shrugged. “It’s realistic. It’s the way things are. We can’t be dreamers when we’re selling properties. We have to appeal to what the potential buyer wants, deep down. How do you feel about privacy, Mrs. Flynn?”
“It’s very personal with me,” Judith said frankly. “That is, my thoughts, my feelings are my own. But in terms of people—well, I like people.”
“Yes,” Geoff said slowly, his blue eyes very sharp. “I can see that. But you’re kind of unusual these days. I salute you.” He turned away to open the door to 205.
It was the old Schnell unit, and it didn’t look much different from when Judith had seen it last. She didn’t know what she expected to find. Maybe nothing. Perhaps she had come only to soak up the atmosphere and to see if the Alhambra’s walls could tell her any secrets.
Geoff went into his spiel, which Judith only half-heard. She was thinking about Mr. and Mrs. Schnell and Helen, as a young girl. Had she known what her father was up to when he left in the middle of the night? Had Mrs. Schnell known?
Yes, Judith thought, Helen’s mother had not only known but abetted her husband. Mrs. Hasegawa had talked about how snoopy Mrs. Schnell had been. Helen herself had said that her mother knew everything about the building’s tenants. While calling on the neighbors, the old girl had cased the joint, as they say, and reported back to her husband about where he could find the loot.
“…are up to you,” Geoff was saying as they stood in the doorway to the kitchen where the floor had now been completely torn up.
“Up to me?” Judith said with a start. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“We’re going to leave as much interior work as we can up to the buyer,” Geoff added with a smile.
“Yes, that’s fine, too,” Judith agreed. “How many units have been sold?”
“Four,” Geoff replied.
“Which leaves how many?” Arlene queried, her expression pugnacious.
“Fourteen,” Geoff said. “The fifth floor is being divided into two penthouses.” He smiled at Judith. “They’re both available. The views will be breathtaking.”
So, Judith figured, would be the prices. “How much is this one?”
“Four fifty,” Geoff replied blithely. “The view here is actually very good. It would be even better if Mr. Guthrie had been allowed to reconfigure the windows, but the historical society and some of the other busybodies won’t budge on changing the exterior. So far, that is. Can’t you just envision floor-to-ceiling windows?”
“Yes, I suppose,” Judith said somewhat vaguely. All she could really envision was Charlie Schnell climbing up the vine-covered side of the
building and entering the units via those very convenient balconies.
“Four,” Arlene said in a tone of disgust. “That’s not very many to presell at this point. It’s Labor Day. Everybody knows that the market goes flat for at least a month or more after that. Then, just as it’s picking up, the holiday season starts. Mid-November to early January are absolutely dead in the real estate business. Just ask Cathy. You and Mr. Guthrie don’t have a lot of time to unload this place, especially at the prices you’re asking.”
If Geoff took umbrage, he didn’t show it. Instead, he chuckled. “Now, Mrs. Rankers, we’ve got a good seven months. The people who buy into the Alhambra aren’t just buying four walls and a roof, they’re getting a piece of Heraldsgate Hill history.”
“They’re getting robbed,” Arlene huffed. “I wouldn’t buy into this place for a million dollars.”
“That,” Geoff said with a trace of asperity, “is what the penthouse would cost you, Mrs. Rankers. I hope you’re not trying to influence Mrs. Flynn here.”
Arlene turned wide, innocent eyes on Geoff. “Of course not! Why would I do such a thing? Judith would just love living here. There’s even room for her mother. They could let her out of the toolshed.”
“Arlene…” Judith said through clenched teeth. “Remember, my husband has to see everything before we even start to make a decision.”
“Men!” Arlene waved a dismissive hand. “What do they know? Turn on the TV, put the remote in one hand and a beer in the other, and they could live on the moon.” She grabbed Judith by the arm and spoke into her ear. “Take it. It’s a steal.”
“But Arlene…”
“Maybe,” Geoff said, “we should go to the office so I can show you the mock-ups.”
Judith glanced at her watch. It was going on one o’clock. Gertrude would be having a fit because her lunch hadn’t been served. “Can I do that later this afternoon? Say around three?”
Geoff Blitz had probably heard such kiss-off lines a thousand times. If he was annoyed or disappointed, it didn’t show. “I’ll be there,” he said.
“So will Judith,” Arlene declared. “I’ll be with her. I wouldn’t want her weaseling out at this stage of the game.”
The walls hadn’t talked to Judith, but Arlene certainly had talked—too much.
“Damn,” Judith said when they got back into the car, “I thought you were going along with me. You know perfectly well I have no intention of buying a condo in the Alhambra.”
“But Judith,” Arlene protested, “it’s a real bargain. They’re asking four-fifty, but they’ll come down, especially if you make them sweat it out for a couple of weeks. I’d say you could get it for four and a quarter. And think about what you could do with the kitchen! Weren’t you impressed?”
“I hardly heard a word Geoff said,” Judith retorted. “Come on, Arlene, you know Joe and I aren’t going anywhere.”
Arlene was looking mulish. “You’re making a big mistake.”
Judith sighed. It was useless to argue with Arlene. In any event, she was off on another tangent, finally quizzing Judith about the murders.
“I had no idea you were involved!” Arlene shrieked. “Why didn’t you tell me? How could I not have known?”
“Because you were out of town, that’s why,” Judith said, “and we haven’t talked since you got back.”
“Still…” Arlene murmured, looking stricken. “Oh, Judith, now I understand!”
“Good,” Judith said as she pulled into the cul-de-sac in front of the Rankerses’ house.
Arlene was laughing. “You were sleuthing. How clever of you. I should have guessed.” She got out of the car, then leaned down to poke her head back inside. “Don’t forget, three o’clock. I’ll be ready. You’re going to love living in the Alhambra.” Arlene closed the door and marched off toward her front porch.
After Judith had fed her irate mother, she made another attempt to call Mrs. Hasegawa. This time the old lady answered on the first ring.
“We went to the grocery store,” she said. “We walk. Traffic is so terrible here. My husband and I almost never drive. Isn’t that good news about Alfred?”
“You heard?” Judith said.
“Yes, Hiroko called from the courthouse. She’s so upset, so worried. But she doesn’t dare leave. This case is huge. It should go to the Supreme Court.”
“It should,” Judith agreed. “In fact, it should have happened years ago.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Hasegawa said. “Not that much can be done. So sad for so many people. Oh—by the way, I remembered that Beth’s name. It was Ritter.”
“Ritter?” Judith echoed.
“Yes,” Mrs. Hasegawa said, and spelled it out.
Judith was momentarily speechless.
Ritter had been Aimee Carrabas’s maiden name.
SIXTEEN
JUDITH DIDN’T CARE how immersed Renie was in her work. At last there was a glimmer of light shining in the Carrabas case. “You have to come over,” Judith asserted. “Now, before I end up buying a condo at the Alhambra.”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll come over to your house.”
“No.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Yes.”
“You won’t.”
This time, there was a long pause and a heavy sigh. “No.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Judith was as good as her word. Renie, looking beleaguered and holding what appeared to be a thirty-foot printout, met her at the door.
“This better be good,” Renie warned, rattling the paper. “Real good.”
“It is,” Judith promised, “and I won’t take long. I can’t, my guests will start coming pretty soon. They always seem to arrive early on a holiday weekend.”
Renie ushered Judith into the living room. Bill was at the dining room table, finishing his leisurely lunch.
“Hi, Judith,” he said, not glancing up from his book.
“Hi, Bill,” Judith said brightly. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“You’re not.” Bill’s gaze remained riveted on the book. If Joe veered between patronization and annoyance with Judith’s amateur sleuthing, Bill simply ignored his wife’s involvement. Unlike Joe, Bill was a master of detachment.
Judith sat down in Bill’s chair in the living room. The Jones sofa and easy chair were too low; they made her hips ache when she tried to get up.
“Let’s hear it,” Renie ordered from the sofa, her feet propped up on a big green leather ottoman.
Judith breezed through the part about going to the Alhambra with Arlene and Geoff Blitz. She concentrated instead on her conversations with Mrs. Hasegawa. Renie’s expression showed a flicker of interest.
“She sounds like a hoot,” Renie remarked.
“She is, in her way,” Judith said. “But here’s the kicker. Beth’s last name was Ritter.”
Renie looked blank. “So?”
“That was Mrs. Carrabas’s maiden name,” Judith explained. “The old lady who died in the nursing home in California was Elizabeth Ritter. Elizabeth? Beth? What do you think of that?”
“Hunh.” Renie gave a little shake of her head. “So it would appear that there is a connection between Mrs. Carrabas and the Alhambra after all. I’ll be darned.”
“It can’t be a coincidence,” Judith declared.
“Well,” Renie pointed out, “it can. But it’s a lead, I guess. Have you told Joe?”
“He’s not home,” Judith said, the excitement still rising in her voice. “I wish he’d get a cell phone. You’d think he’d need it in his business.”
“Hunh,” Renie repeated. “So what are you thinking?”
Judith grew thoughtful. “I’m not sure. Harry must have had a child by both Beth and Dorothy. Both girls. Unless Mrs. Carrabas was Anne-Marie. But why would she take the last name of Ritter unless Beth was her mother?”
“Why would she take the name of Ritter at all?” Renie asked. “It was her mother�
��s name, not Harry’s.”
“Maybe she was illegitimate,” Judith suggested. “Maybe Harry never married Beth.”
“Why not, if Dorothy was dead?” Renie said. “Wouldn’t Aimee be younger than Anne-Marie?”
“That’s right,” Judith murmured. “The police gave her age as fifty-two. I assume they took it from official records. Anne-Marie would be older, fifty-seven or fifty-eight. Aimee would have been born a few years after the war.”
“So you think Aimee Carrabas is Harry Meacham’s daughter by Elizabeth Ritter,” Renie said in a thoughtful tone.
“What do you think?” Judith asked.
“Gosh—I don’t know,” Renie replied. “Why would she want to come up here to the Alhambra? Aimee wasn’t Dorothy’s daughter, so I have to assume she wouldn’t be particularly interested in the discovery of the body in the wall.”
Judith tipped her head to one side. “Wouldn’t she want to know if her father was a murderer?”
Renie didn’t answer right away. The house was silent, except for Bill, turning the pages of his book and munching on chocolate chip cookies.
“You mean that when George Guthrie called her about the exorcism,” Renie said slowly, “he told her that the dead body had been identified as Dorothy Meacham. Aimee probably knew that her father’s first wife—or second wife, depending on when and if he married Elizabeth—was named Dorothy. So Aimee jumped at the chance to come to the Alhambra and learn more.”
Judith nodded, also in slow motion. “Harry must be dead. Maybe Elizabeth kept her maiden name. For some reason, she wanted her daughter to have it.” Judith stopped, snapping her fingers. “What if Harry took Elizabeth’s name when he married her? Maybe he did it because he thought that Dorothy’s body had already been found. Does that make sense?”
Renie gave herself a good shake. “Sense? Where’s the sense? Who’s got the sense? I’m getting confused. You’ve included everybody but Ish K. Bibble.”
Judith tried to be patient, even offering Renie a sympathetic glance. “It’s like this. Harry was dating or perhaps married to Elizabeth—or Beth, as she was familiarly known—before the war. Somehow he met Dorothy and got her pregnant. They got married and moved into the Alhambra. Beth nobly and discreetly steps aside. Or Beth and Harry have a huge fight and break up. Along comes Pearl Harbor a short time later, and Harry immediately joins the army. Now I know a lot of men did that, but in Harry’s case, maybe things had gotten a bit hot for him on the home front. He was caught between Beth and Dorothy, and may have committed bigamy. So off he goes, and Dorothy has the baby, Anne-Marie. When he gets out of the service, he feels an obligation to move back in with Dorothy and their child. But he’s still in love with Beth and she wants him back. Thus, Dorothy must go. So she ends up inside the wall, and Harry and Beth leave town. Maybe Anne-Marie joins them or goes to live with those relatives nobody can identify. Do you get it now?”