Nutty As a Fruitcake

by Mary Daheim

  “Art’s room,” Judith said. “It reminds me of a monk’s cell. Except I’ve never seen one.”

  The storage items in the rest of the basement seemed ordinary—the washer and dryer, a clothes tree, a couple of coiled garden hoses, empty boxes that had once held appliances, a snow shovel, two aging pairs of roller skates, and a small box marked “Xmas Dec.”

  “I guess the Goodriches never were much for holiday festivities,” Judith remarked, heading back to the wooden stairs.

  “They weren’t much for anything,” Renie said as they returned to the kitchen. “What now? Haven’t you looked everywhere else?”

  In fact, Judith had. She made a frustrated sound. “I keep thinking I must have missed something. What could it be?”

  Renie lifted one shoulder. “What would you expect to find? Typically, I mean. Clothes, furniture, dishes, linens, books, medicine—take mental inventory.”

  In a cursory way, Judith already had. “The police would have taken away anything that could be construed as evidence,” she said, more to herself than to Renie. “But evidence is a funny thing.”

  “Hilarious.” Renie was looking skeptical. “That hatchet really makes me laugh. So does the Dalmane and maybe some bloodstained clothing and a bunch of gory photographs.”

  “That isn’t what I mean.” Judith was frowning as she surveyed the living room. “Evidence is often something very ordinary that gets overlooked. Sometimes, it’s what isn’t there. Such as George’s books for Pacific Meats.”

  Renie raised her eyebrows. “True. You think Dave swiped them in order to cover up his T-bone theft?”

  Judith gave a short nod. “That’s possible. We certainly haven’t found any ledgers.” She pointed to the walnut desk. “There’s an empty space inside. An account book would fit perfectly.”

  “There’s something else missing,” Renie said after a short silence. Her eyes had been roaming around the room, taking in what was left of the solid, if inexpensive and aging, furniture. “Money. You found that passbook with what—seven, eight grand? That’s not much for a couple like the Goodriches. This house must have been paid off forty years ago. They weren’t lavish spenders, and Enid certainly wouldn’t have been generous with their kids or grandkids. Did they ever travel?”

  Judith considered. “Not that I know of. Maybe their money was spent on doctors for Enid.”

  “No. They probably had some kind of health care plan through George’s job, plus Medicare. And Enid didn’t actually go to the hospital much, did she?”

  Again, Judith thought back to the Goodriches’ known history. “I guess not. Arlene is always full of news about anybody being hospitalized.” Frustrated, Judith rubbed at the back of her neck. “So where’s the money? If there’s a safety deposit box, there must be a key. If there are stocks and bonds and CDs, there should have been records in the desk. If they’d put their savings in…ah!” Judith snapped her fingers. “The IRS! Where are they when you actually need them?”

  “Everywhere,” Renie replied gloomily.

  Judith was already opening the breakfront desk. “There were tax statements in here. I ignored them because they make me crazy. And poor.” Eagerly, she sorted through the Goodriches’ business records. Sure enough, a xeroxed copy of their most recent IRS filing was at the bottom of the pile, where Judith had left it.

  “Well?” Renie inquired, coming to stand next to Judith. “Are they fabulously rich?”

  George and Enid had filed a short form. They certainly weren’t rich; the Goodriches had been entitled to a six-hundred-dollar refund. The list of assets corresponded with the other financial information Judith had found previously in the desk.

  “Shoot,” breathed Judith. “No assets, other than this house and their savings. That doesn’t seem right.”

  “George isn’t the type to hoodwink the IRS,” Renie pointed out.

  “So what did they do with their money?” Judith demanded.

  “Who knows?” Renie said, leaning against the fireplace mantel. “Maybe George was secretly helping Art and Glenda or the grandsons.”

  A knock at the front door startled both cousins. Judith peered through the bottle glass but was once again thwarted. She could distinguish only a form.

  Arlene Rankers wore an indignant expression. “It’s not fair,” she announced, marching into the living room. “Why do you two get to come in here and browse around while I stand out in the fog trying to move Melchior?”

  “How did you know we were here?” Judith asked suspiciously.

  Arlene was eyeing the open desk. “I went to your house, but Phyliss didn’t know you were gone. Your mother hadn’t seen you since breakfast. Your car was still in the garage. The fog’s starting to lift, and I saw Serena’s Chevrolet parked at the curb.” The thorough reconnaissance was typical of Arlene’s intelligence methods.

  The logic of it all made Judith smile. “Okay, Arlene, help us figure out what the Goodriches did with their money.” She gestured at the desk. “No clues there. What do you think?”

  Briefly, Arlene looked puzzled. Then she brightened and beamed with triumph. “Eggs! They spent it on eggs!”

  Renie wrinkled her pug nose. “What kind of eggs? Fabergé?”

  Arlene threw up her hands. “Heavens no! Nest eggs! George referred to sitting on his investments. Hatching them, as it were.”

  Judith and Renie exchanged bewildered glances. “The henhouse must be a Swiss bank,” Renie finally said. “There’s no sign of nest eggs here.”

  Arlene’s blue eyes hardened. “Are you doubting my word, Serena?”

  Swiftly, Judith intervened. She also changed the subject, since they seemed to be getting nowhere with the Goodriches’ financial status. “Arlene, you keep so well-informed about what happens in the neighborhood. Think back to the week before the murder. What, if anything, was going on at the Goodrich house?”

  Sinking into the armchair that Leigh had abandoned, Arlene knitted her brow in concentration. “Nothing startling. Enid and George went to Glenda’s for Thanksgiving. When they drove off, we were out in the front yard trying to coax Mugs’s husband out of the car. They’d had a fight about gravy. Last year, I didn’t put giblets in it and…”

  “That would be Thursday,” Judith interrupted. “What about Friday?”

  “Friday? You mean the day after Thanksgiving?” Arlene considered. “George went to the dentist. No, that was the previous week. He did his regular grocery shopping in the morning, just about the time Carl was working on the downspouts. We had that big wind in mid-November, and the leaves got…”

  Judith forced a smile. “You’re talking about Friday morning?”

  Arlene nodded, somewhat impatiently. “Of course. If you’d let me finish…Anyway, the downspout fell off, and Carl had to go to Earnest Hardware. That was after lunch. He left just as George was taking Enid to the doctor. While Carl was gone, I scrubbed down the dining room because we’d had a little accident during dinner. Sort of a small fire, actually. When Carl came back, Glenda’s car was parked at her folks’ house. Gary Meyers was with her. I saw him leave.”

  Arlene paused for breath while Judith tried to keep the comings and goings straight. Despite the digressions, the narrative thread was fairly clear. But something Arlene had said gave Judith mental qualms.

  “Art stopped by Saturday afternoon while I was taking down my Thanksgiving decorations,” Arlene said, shifting on the plastic-covered armchair. “JoAnne was there Sunday—I saw her on our way back from Mass. Art came around again at noon on Monday, and Leigh was there in the evening. She’d borrowed her mother’s car. Tuesday—well, you know what happened Tuesday.”

  Judith was impressed by Arlene’s ability to keep tabs on the cul-de-sac. She only wished that her neighbor had been eyeballing the vicinity early Wednesday morning. “No other sightings?” Judith asked hopefully.

  Arlene’s expression was apologetic. “We still go to bed early, even now that Carl is retired. We get up early, too, but unf
ortunately, the only house we can see from the dinette is yours. It’s very dull.”

  Renie, who had been standing by the fireplace fiddling with the artificial flower arrangement, nodded with understanding. “I never see what’s going on in our neighborhood. Our street’s too steep and all the trees have grown up so that it’s practically like living in the woods.”

  “You have to create opportunities, Serena,” Arlene said in encouragement. “For example, the other day I happened to be standing on my toilet, and I saw Naomi Stein come home with a huge Nordquist’s box. I’ll bet she’s buying Ham an overcoat for Christmas. Or would that be Hannukah?”

  “It would for the Steins,” Judith said with a smile. Over the years, Arlene was prone to stand on her toilet, though she never explained why—but everyone knew it was so she could get a better view.

  “That was Monday,” Arlene continued, apparently still offering Renie advice. “Last Friday—or was it Thursday?—there I was, on top of the garage. I saw Corinne Dooley, making her bed at two in the afternoon! Granted she has a lot of children, but wouldn’t you think she’d get right at that in the morning?”

  “Maybe that’s why,” Renie ventured.

  “Why she has so many children?” Arlene was frowning at Renie. “Yes, you have a point…”

  “No,” Renie broke in, “I meant why she’s so busy…”

  “Then a week or so ago,” Arlene blithely went on, “I was hanging out of the attic window…” She stopped herself with a wave of one hand. “No, it was the day you borrowed Kevin’s truck, Judith. I was watching for you to come back in one piece. Anyway, an attic is a wonderful vantage point. Remember that, Serena. A really sweeping view.”

  Renie was looking bemused. “So what did you see? Someone sweeping?”

  “Exactly!” Arlene’s voice was fraught with enthusiasm. “Rochelle Porter, out on her back porch. She’d gotten home early from work. Or else she hadn’t been called to sub that day. Oh—I saw Mrs. Swanson, talking over the fence to George. She doesn’t come out much during the cold weather. Being from Japan, I suppose she’s used to a tropical climate.”

  Judith considered correcting Arlene, both about the Japanese weather and the half century Mrs. Swanson had spent in the Pacific Northwest. But Arlene was still talking: “That’s when she gave him the hatchet, of course.”

  Renie blinked; Judith gaped. Arlene started to get out of the armchair.

  She was immediately tackled by both cousins.

  “Honestly!” cried Arlene, “you don’t need to twist my arm so hard, Serena!”

  Abashed, Renie let go. Judith, however, blocked Arlene’s passage. “You’ve never mentioned the hatchet before,” she said in reproach. “At least not to me. Did you tell the police?”

  Arlene’s face was blank. “Tell them what? They know about the hatchet. You said so yourself.”

  Judith had to concede the point. “But you should have…” She stopped, aware that the argument went against the grain of her own belief in George’s innocence. “Let’s be precise. What did you see George and Mrs. Swanson doing?”

  With a hand to her forehead, Arlene wandered to the hearth. “I wasn’t concentrating on them. The Ericsons had gotten a delivery from UPS that morning. They weren’t home, of course, so the box was still on the front porch. You can’t see their porch from the street because of the high fence. I think it was for their computer. Goodness, in all the other excitement, I forgot to ask Jeanne about it.”

  “George?” Judith coaxed. “Mrs. Swanson?”

  Arlene was growing exasperated. “I told you, I wasn’t paying much attention. They were at the fence, with the hatchet. That’s it.”

  Judith reflected briefly. “That was Tuesday afternoon, the day before the murder?”

  “Yes, yes.” Arlene now sounded cross. “As I said, it was the day you borrowed Kevin’s truck. Really, I should get home. Or you should.” Arlene’s gaze wandered off in the direction of the bedroom.

  Judith knew that Arlene wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d had a look at the rest of the house. “You’re right. Don’t forget, we’re serving the Lutheran Church’s St. Lucy’s Day buffet Monday night.” Judith didn’t know if she and Arlene had been asked to cater the annual celebration of light in the spirit of ecumenism or because the Lutherans were sick of lutefisk. “I’m coming back with Phyliss this afternoon. You might as well leave the back door open.”

  Arlene’s blue eyes widened in feigned innocence. “You mean…But I was…You’re leaving?”

  Judith nodded. “Immediately. It’s all yours.” She led the way for Renie.

  “Is that a good idea?” Renie asked when the cousins were back on the sidewalk.

  Judith shrugged. “Where’s the harm? We’ve already been all over the place, along with Dooley. So have the family members. And the cops, of course. Phyliss will launch her frontal attack when she shows up to clean. Let Arlene have her fun. We did.”

  “If you can call it that,” Renie muttered.

  It was nearly noon, and the fog had almost dispersed. The air felt damp and chilly, with overcast gray skies. Renie lingered by her Chev.

  “I should go home and get to work. Let me dig Aunt Ellen’s box out of the trunk.”

  Judith waited at the curb, her mind far from Aunt Ellen and Uncle Win in Nebraska. Indeed, her thoughts were in the gutter.

  “Greg dropped that key,” she declared, gesturing across the driveway to the parking strip in front of the Ericson house. “For some reason, he couldn’t park where you are now. Tuesday night, he took the key out of the phony rock after JoAnne told him where to find it. Enid and George were in bed. Greg let himself in, then dropped the key on his way out. Why?”

  “He’s dippy,” Renie replied, handing a carton to Judith. “It’s not heavy. You know Aunt Ellen—she doesn’t like paying postage, either.”

  Judith cringed at the pile of plastic-shrouded presents. “She means well. I think.”

  “She does,” Renie said, sounding unusually mellow. “What time do you want us tomorrow?”

  Judith was roused from her mental gymnastics. “Huh? Oh—five-thirty, I guess. I’ll call you.” She jiggled the carton experimentally. At least she couldn’t hear any sounds of broken parts, unlike in other years. “Hey!” she called suddenly as Renie opened the car door. “If you were Arlene, what would you have just seen?”

  Renie made a face. “What are you talking about?”

  Judith jiggled the box again. “When you gave me this. Think about it—frozen in time, a glimpse.”

  Renie ducked into the Chev. “Bye, coz.” Her voice was muffled.

  “You wouldn’t have been able to tell if I was taking or giving,” Judith shouted. “In a cursory look, I might have been handing this to you.”

  Without a backward glance, Renie drove away.

  SIXTEEN

  THE AFTERNOON DIDN’T go as smoothly as Judith had hoped. She and Phyliss spent four hours scrubbing down the walls of the Goodrich bedroom, washing the bloodstained bedding, and trying to clean various other items that offered mute evidence of the gruesome crime. Both women agreed they would have to come back, probably on Monday. The beds had to be made up, they should straighten the living room, and the bath was in need of a good cleaning. Phyliss was game. After her initial screeching reaction to the murder site, she had been remarkably subdued.

  The following day, Saturday, Joe was able to stay home. But he didn’t put up the tree. Instead, he wrapped the outside pipes, tinkered with his MG, and cleaned the furnace filters. Busy with dinner preparations, Judith didn’t nag. They could do the tree on Sunday. As she had said, the candy and cookies could wait.

  In the late afternoon, Dooley and O.P. stopped by. Judith was readying the rib roast for the oven. The boys had nothing new to report, a fact that seemed to grieve them both.

  “There’s a lot of coming and going in your street,” O.P. said very seriously, accepting a reindeer-shaped sugar cookie from the batch Judith had baked tha
t morning. “But it’s mostly the police and delivery trucks and people coming to the B&B.”

  “I know,” Judith said, rubbing a mixture of salt, pepper, and garlic onto the big roast. “Say, did you notice a beat-up orange pickup parked around the neighborhood in the last few weeks, O.P.? You haven’t mentioned it.”

  O.P. munched the front legs off his reindeer. “Maybe—did it have tools in the back? I think I saw it across the street about two weeks ago.”

  Dooley swung his long legs out from under the table. “I saw it a couple of days after I got home. But it wasn’t near the cul-de-sac. It was sitting a couple of blocks away, by the park.”

  The nearby park was a panoramic viewpoint that overlooked downtown, the bay, and the mountains. Nobody connected to the Goodriches lived in the vicinity. Judith wondered why Ross Cisrak seemed to be roaming aimlessly around Heraldsgate Hill.

  She also wondered why Dooley was on his feet. He was eating a frosted star and looking out through the kitchen window. “Great Nativity set,” he remarked. “Gee, I forgot, you can’t see much past the Rankers’, can you?”

  “Try the dining room,” Judith said dryly.

  With long, swift strides, Dooley did.

  “Girls,” sneered O.P.

  “Gaby Porter’s due home today, I take it.” Judith tapped the cookie jar.

  O.P. extracted a fat Santa. “Yeah. That’s dumb. Being possessed by a girl, I mean.”

  “Obsessed,” Judith correctly gently. O.P. shrugged. The sound of a car door slamming could be heard faintly in the kitchen; the sound of the front door slamming could be heard loudly in the kitchen.

  Judith looked at O.P. and grinned. O.P. made a disgusted face. “Dumb,” he repeated, and ate another cookie.

  The dinner party was a big success. The Joneses and the Prices got on well, which wasn’t surprising since Renie had a special fondness for Woody. The two of them shared a love of opera and spent much of the evening exchanging opinions about current international stars and recent local productions. Sondra was a movie buff, which suited Bill admirably. Then there were sports, in which everyone had an interest, except perhaps Sondra, whose eyes seemed to glaze at the mention of anything involving a ball and men wearing strange costumes in public.