Gone With the Win: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery

by Mary Daheim

  “This really is a . . . view,” she said after they sat down in the cubes. “How long have you lived here?”

  Marla ran a hand through her highlighted brown hair. “Almost twelve years. We had it built to our specifications. How did you find out about us and our house?”

  “Referrals,” Judith responded. “We have people all over North America looking for unusual modern homes. Did you hire an architect?”

  Marla shook her head. “We knew what we wanted. My father owned a construction company, but sold it when he retired in his seventies. The people who took over the business treated us very well. In fact, Mr. Morris asked Lee—my husband—to become a consultant.”

  Judith concealed her surprise. “Would that be Frank Morris?”

  “No. It’s Ed Morris, though I think he has a brother named Frank.”

  “This may seem like an intrusive question, but it’s something our readers always want to know,” Judith said, sounding apologetic. “Given that this is prime property, how much did the entire project cost?”

  “Just under three million,” Marla replied. “We were very fortunate. My late father left us a comfortable nest egg. Lee and I were both able to retire. Of course, he keeps his hand in with the construction company. I’m busy with my crafts. Though I don’t feel like it, I’m a grandmother twice over.” She simpered, her glossy mauve lips curved ever so slightly.

  “How nice,” Judith said. “Are the grandchildren around here?”

  “You mean in the house?” Marla looked faintly alarmed. “No. Dawn and Perry, my daughter and son-in-law, live over on the Eastside. But that’s close enough. We see them every month or two, usually at their home.”

  “Oh,” Judith said. “I thought Mrs. Grissom might be your nanny.”

  Marla laughed in a rather jarring manner. “Heavens, no! We raised two girls of our own. Isn’t that enough?”

  Judith didn’t respond to what she decided was a rhetorical comment. “Does your other daughter live nearby?”

  “She moved out of state.” Marla’s face had turned stony. “Do you think you’ll feature our home in your magazine?” she asked after an awkward pause.

  “It’s very tempting,” Judith conceded, getting to her feet.

  Marla also stood up. “Did you want to look at the rest of the house?” she inquired. “Frankly, it’s not at its best. We’ve just started preparing for the holidays.”

  “I understand,” Judith said, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Renie appeared to have gone to sleep. Moving closer to the cube where her cousin was sitting, she gripped her shoulder. “We’ll be on our way now,” she announced a trifle too loudly.

  Marla leaned toward Judith. “Doesn’t your assistant speak?”

  “She speaks only French,” Judith replied as Renie shook herself and got up from the cube.

  Marla looked puzzled. “I thought you said your magazine was only for North America.”

  “That’s true,” Judith replied. “Renée handles the French-Canadian edition. She came along to see how I conduct an interview. She’s very good at nuance.”

  “Oh, of course.” Marla led the way down the hall. When they reached the door, she asked if Judith had a business card.

  “We don’t use them,” Judith said. “They’re so old-school. As soon as we leave, I’ll zap all the information to the publisher and you’ll receive an e-mail confirming our visit. That should come to you within twenty-four hours. Thank you so much for your cooperation.”

  “My pleasure,” Marla said in what almost passed for enthusiasm. But she closed the door immediately behind the cousins.

  “You went to sleep!” Judith cried softly as they went down the steps. “Or did you?”

  “I thought it’d be more fun to count up all the lies you told. Better than counting sheep. No wonder I nodded off.” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Uh-oh. Here’s Mr. Watkins in a Cadillac Escalade.”

  Judith watched as he pulled into the driveway—and stopped. Lee got out and walked over to the cousins. If Marla was a bit blowsy, her mate was nondescript, an average-size middle-aged man wearing a down vest and a baseball cap. The lines in his plain face indicated he’d traveled some rough roads besides the ones he’d covered as a bus driver.

  “You want to see me?” he asked in an abrupt manner.

  “No,” Judith replied, wondering why he looked vaguely familiar. “We came to see your wife.”

  “What about?”

  “Your house,” Judith said, edging toward the Subaru. “It’s quite fascinating. We may use it in our magazine.”

  “Magazine?” Lee frowned. “What magazine? Hey—I know you from someplace. Let me think . . .”

  Judith opened the car door and got in. Renie followed her lead on the passenger side. Lee started to wave his hands as he came closer to the Subaru. But before he could get to Judith’s window, she reversed and made a quick U-turn in the middle of the street.

  “Meat & Mingle customer, huh?” Renie said as they took the second corner almost on two wheels.

  Judith nodded. “I recognized him as soon as he recognized me. I don’t remember Marla, though. In fact,” she went on, looking through the rearview mirror to make sure Lee wasn’t following them, “I’m trying to recall who he used to hang out with.” She paused and sucked in her breath. “My God—it was Jimmy Tooms!”

  Chapter 17

  What’s next?” Renie asked as they drove north through the Thurlow District.

  “Home,” Judith replied. “It’s after four. Guests will be arriving soon. Besides, I think we learned some things today.”

  “We did?”

  “First, why did Myrna Grissom quit her job managing Peebles Place? Retirement and nursing homes pay their managers quite well. You may not have been too far off the mark when you mentioned blackmail. Hush money might be more like it.”

  Renie stared at Judith. “You mean Marla and Lee offed Hector?”

  “More along the lines of rushing the old guy to his heavenly reward. Nothing overt—just telling Myrna to avoid extreme measures to keep Hector alive. Being in his nineties, nobody would request an autopsy. If he was in pain, it might be the merciful thing to do. We should find out when he died.”

  Renie nodded thoughtfully. “It couldn’t have been too long after Opal was killed. I’d guess within a year or two, given when they began planning the house. But it does make Annie O’Reilly’s suspicions seem more credible. She was afraid to finger her boss.”

  Judith nodded. “It might also explain why Annie made it sound as if Myrna had fallen out of sight. She either conspired or knew too much, if in fact, Hector was hurried off to heaven. With their windfall, Lee and Marla could afford to give her a big raise.”

  “And,” Renie pointed out, “they can keep an eye on her. Is Myrna now your number one suspect or are the Watkinses moving up on the list despite their alibis?”

  “I’m not sure.” Judith stopped at a red light not far from where she’d once toiled at The Meat & Mingle. “Lee knew Jimmy Tooms. If Jimmy hadn’t been in jail, I’d wonder if the Watkinses hired him. For enough money, he might’ve been willing to knock off his ex. No love lost there, I assume. But that’s impossible. However, Myrna suddenly goes up on the suspect list. Woody didn’t note any alibi for her because he had no reason to suspect her.”

  “She was probably at work until five or six that day,” Renie said. “Does time of death extend beyond five?”

  “No. Five is the latest according to the M.E. Myrna should’ve been at work that afternoon, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have taken off. Peebles is probably only a five- or ten-minute drive from Opal’s house.” Judith picked up speed as they took the main thoroughfare to downtown. “The most curious thing about our visit is the house.”

  “In what other way than it’s ghastly?”

  Judith grimaced. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I think it’s a sham. Yes, it’s big and it’s pretentious and it’s ugly, but I don’t think there’s muc
h to it.”

  “There’s certainly not much in it,” Renie said.

  “Exactly. I wonder if a lot of that space is empty, which makes me think that maybe Lee and Marla are broke. Did they blow all their money on the house itself? Or is somebody blackmailing them? I don’t mean Myrna—she may be paid to keep her mouth shut, but if she got too demanding, they could deal with her somehow.”

  “Hold it,” Renie said. “Isn’t Lee a part owner of a horse? You have to have money to get involved in Thoroughbred racing.”

  Judith glanced at Renie. “He got in, but can he get out?”

  “Huh?” Renie made a face. “I’m baffled. What are you implying?”

  “I’m not sure,” Judith admitted, noting that the dark clouds now obscured the mountains to the west. “This case is so complicated. And yet I feel that like most murders, it should be rather simple. Man shoots wife in a fit of jealous rage. Two drunks get into a brawl and one of them offs the other one. Robber shoots store owner during a holdup. But this is different. If Woody couldn’t solve it, how can I?”

  “Because you’re FASTO?”

  “I don’t feel very fast,” Judith replied as they entered the tunnel at the end of the viaduct. “I feel as if I’m in one of these, but there’s no light at the end of it.”

  Renie didn’t respond until they were out of the tunnel and almost to the Heraldsgate Hill exit. “Did you and Woody ever reconstruct the crime scene? I ask because if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s visuals.”

  “We didn’t go into details, but everything was in his case notes,” Judith replied, before slowing down to take the right-hand turn.

  “That’s my point,” Renie said. “It was his first homicide. Even Woody might overlook small things that could help. I’d talk to him again if I were you.”

  “Maybe I will, but I hate to bother him.” Judith slowed down even further to wind around under the bridge that went over the ship canal. “I’ll try to call Ruby tonight at work, too.”

  “The missing link,” Renie murmured.

  Pausing at the six-way stop, Judith glanced at Renie. “Don’t say that. I keep thinking that maybe Ruby is missing. And that’s my worst nightmare.”

  When Judith arrived home a little after four-thirty, Phyliss was just leaving. “More rain’s coming,” she said, digging around in her coat pocket. “If I see the animals gathering two by two, I’ll know we’re in for it. I need a new bumbershoot.” She held up a rain bonnet. “These things don’t do much good in a deluge.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Judith assured her. “Judging from the clouds, the rain won’t start until after you get home.”

  Phyliss’s thick gray eyebrows came together. “You don’t know the ways of the Lord. Those clouds could be bringing fire and brimstone, just like the Lord did with Sodom and Gomorrah.”

  “Make up your mind, Phyliss,” Judith said, trying to be kind. “If it’s fire and brimstone first, the deluge will put it out. See you tomorrow.”

  “It could even be clouds of locusts,” Phyliss muttered before making her exit.

  Judith checked phone messages first. There was a call for a mid-January reservation, a message from Auntie Vance saying that she and Uncle Vince were coming to town over the weekend, and the last one was somebody peddling carpet-cleaning services. Finding the listing for Peebles Place, Judith dialed the number and asked for the manager. She was put through to Emily Stromberg who answered in a brisk manner.

  Judith had her latest not-so-small fib at the ready, giving her name to match what came up on her caller ID as J. G. Flynn. “Ms. Stromberg, this is Jennifer Flynn. I’m an attorney handling the estate of Hector Sparks, one of your former patients. We recently discovered a codicil to his will with a bequest to one of your employees. I know the delay is inexcusable, but these things happen. I refer to Erma Schram.”

  “I’ve been with Peebles less than two years,” Emily replied. “The name isn’t familiar. You should contact my predecessor, Margaret Glenn. She’s working for the state in the Department of Social and Health Services. Would you like her number?”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Judith said, almost as brisk as Emily.

  “Just a moment.” There was a pause on the line. “Here it is. This is direct.” Emily slowly and distinctly read off the number in the state capital. “I’m sure she’ll be of more help. However, if you need to contact me again, feel free to do so.”

  Judith thanked her latest dupe and dialed Margaret. A recorded message came on the line. Maintaining her bogus identity, Judith rattled off her credentials and voiced her hope for an early response.

  She’d barely hung up when the first of the guests arrived—a mother and daughter from Augusta, Maine. The next hour was taken up with more guest check-ins and the preparation of hors d’oeuvres. Joe arrived home at 5:40, looking grim.

  “Traffic’s a bitch,” he complained, hanging up his jacket in the back hall. “I left headquarters at five. It took me almost half an hour just to get out of downtown.”

  “Next time leave earlier,” Judith said as Joe gave her a quick kiss. “You’re not on the clock.”

  “Maybe not,” Joe conceded, “but the guy I’m checking out worked in Honolulu for several years so I had to wait for my contact there to get back from lunch because of the two-hour time difference.” He paused to make drinks. “Anything happen around here besides Phyliss trying to show you the error of your sinful ways?”

  “Well . . . Renie and I took a little trip this afternoon.”

  Joe’s expression was ironic. “No kidding,” he said, handing Judith her Scotch. “Dare I guess you went south?”

  “We did,” Judith admitted, proceeding to relate their experiences as she dished up the appetizers. “I’m not sure,” she said in conclusion, “that we got any questions answered, but the trip certainly raised a lot of new ones.”

  “I like the part about the house,” Joe said. “When will you ask me to find a pliant building inspector from the city to check out the place?”

  “That’s a good idea, but I’m not sure I want to put the wind up yet as far as the Watkinses are concerned. Though,” she continued, slicing potatoes, “it might work as part of the gig about being a scout for Modern Manse magazine. Let me think about it.”

  “You do that while I change,” Joe said, setting his glass on the counter. “You want me to take those appetizers out to the guests? I hear some of them heading for the living room.”

  “Please.” She reached out to put her hand on Joe’s sleeve. “Thanks for not getting upset about my involvement in the Opal Tooms case.”

  Joe shrugged. “I’d like to see it resolved for Woody’s sake.”

  “Say,” Judith said, “would you mind calling him later to ask when Hector Sparks died? And ask if he can remember anything at the crime scene that might not be in his case file.”

  Joe looked vaguely pained. “Woody has always been thorough.”

  “I know, but even the most methodical person can overlook things that seem irrelevant.”

  “Okay, but I’ll wait until Woody has time to decompress. It’s in his interests, I suppose.”

  Joe carried the tray out to the living room. Judith turned up the heat on the frying pan for the fried potatoes and got out a heavier skillet for the steaks she’d bought at Sollie’s. She was cutting some of the thicker ends off of asparagus when Gertrude sailed down the hall.

  “Is my midnight supper ready yet? Where’ve you been, kiddo? I’m almost passed out from starvation.”

  “I bought special steaks,” Judith said. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. Do you think you can survive that long or did you run out of Granny Goodness Chocolates this afternoon?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Gertrude huffed, bringing her wheelchair up next to the stove. “Asparagus, huh?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow night I’ll make a boiled dinner with sauerkraut and nefle. I bought pig hocks, too.”

  Gertrude perked up. “Well. That’
s more like it. You’ve been gallivanting. Don’t tell me about it. You must’ve been with my idiot niece. Deb called four times to say she couldn’t get hold of Serena. She needs more Tums. She’s down to her last three rolls. Deb, I mean, not Serena.”

  “Aunt Deb’s a worrywart,” Judith remarked, filling a kettle with water to steam the asparagus. “She likes to keep Renie hopping.”

  “It’s good for Serena,” the old lady declared. “Otherwise, she’d just sit around the house and make doodles she calls traffic designs. What’s wrong with the ones that say ‘stop’ and ‘yield’? They look fine to me. Who needs a bunch of squiggly stuff when they’re driving?”

  “You know Renie does graphic designs,” Judith said, hearing the chatter of her guests in the living room. “Can you wait here until your dinner is done? I should greet my guests.”

  “You watch dinner while I greet your guests,” Gertrude responded.

  Before Judith could turn down the heat on the skillet, the old lady revved up her wheelchair and headed out of the kitchen. Why not? Judith thought. Her mother could pour on the charm when she was in the mood. It would be pleasant, she mused, if the old girl could do it on a more regular basis.

  The phone rang as Judith was turning the steaks. Irked, she hurried to take the call before it went to voice mail.

  “Ms. Flynn?” the pleasant voice said. “This is Margaret Glenn from DSHS. I was in a very long meeting this afternoon and only now got around to your request about Hector Sparks’s heir who worked at Peebles Place. Is this a convenient time?”

  “Of course,” Judith lied, assuming her lawyerlike persona. “Thank you for being so prompt.”

  “I’m working from memory,” Margaret said apologetically, “but I remember Erma Schram fairly well. She was hired as an aide, then later worked as a cook. She’d been divorced, but remarried and quit to move out of state with her new husband. Her employment at Peebles was to see her through until the decree was final. She also had some health problems. I don’t have a forwarding address, but if memory serves, her second husband and his children lived in Idaho. Is that any help?”