by Mary Daheim
Judith said it was—and thanked her for being so cooperative.
Her next task was to contact the restaurant at Wolfgang’s in Little Bavaria. A deep male voice with a faint German accent took her call. Judith asked if she could speak to one of their servers, Ruby Tooms.
“Ruby does not work here anymore,” the man replied. “Try her elsewhere.” He hung up.
Judith peeked into the living room. It was empty, so Joe must have gone up to the family quarters. Frustrated, she hesitated briefly before calling Renie. It was seven-thirty. Bill Jones’s moratorium on answering phone calls during the dinner hour had expired thirty minutes earlier.
Renie picked up on the third ring. “Do you miss me already?” she asked with unusual warmth.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“It’s Nazi night on TV. I am so fed up with Hitler. Sometimes I wish he had escaped and was living in Jersey so I could sink one of my Manolo heels into his half-witted skull.”
“As a matter of fact,” Judith said, “I’m calling about a German.”
“Hitler? Or my Manolos? Blahnik isn’t German, he’s Spanish. You can’t borrow the shoes. Your feet are too big. Get your own. By the way, Uncle Al called about some basketball tickets for Bill and Joe. By chance, he was at the track today and ran into Jorge Gonzales. I’d mentioned him to Uncle Al when I called him outside of The Persian Cat.”
“And?” Judith inquired as she sat down at the kitchen table.
“Gonzales—Uncle Al describes him as a real character, which means he’s a good guy—started young as a jockey, but kept growing and became a trainer. I mention that because he encouraged Duke Swisher to help mend his broken heart by getting into the training business. Jorge alibied Duke, though he admitted he was a little vague about the time frame, being otherwise occupied that day. However, he knew Opal.”
“You mean from seeing her with Duke at the track?”
“Yes,” Renie replied. “He only met her a few times, but thought she was nice, if a bit flighty. On one occasion Opal was feeling sorry for herself because she had to leave the track early to work the evening shift. She didn’t like that because she claimed there was another aide on that shift who was out to get her.”
“Did Jorge have a name?”
“No,” Renie responded. “He told Uncle Al it was a woman who was going through a divorce. Opal already had been divorced, and thought the other dame—quoting old-fashioned Uncle Al here—should be more sympathetic and not so mean.”
Judith ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair. “That might be someone we sort of know—or knew. Let me tell you what I just found out about Erma Schram.”
When she wound up her account of the phone call with Margaret Glenn, Judith finally remembered what she’d called Renie about in the first place at Wolfgang’s. “Ruby’s no longer working at Wolfgang’s. The man told me to try elsewhere.”
“Where is elsewhere?”
“I don’t know,” Judith retorted.
“If she’s elsewhere, that probably means she isn’t dead.”
“I hope so, but I’m still worried.”
“You know people in Little Bavaria. Put one of them on the case.”
“Good idea. I’ll do that tomorrow. Is Goebbels still bellowing?”
“No. That was Bill, bellowing at Himmler. Give yourself a break,” Renie advised. “Pack it in for the night and relax. You sound tired.”
“I am,” Judith admitted. “Talk to you tomorrow.” She rang off. Through the kitchen she could hear rain falling on the Rankerses’ hedge, a familiar, yet soothing sound. The wind seemed to have died down and the only other noise from outside was a drip from a downspout Joe kept forgetting to fix. It seemed to hypnotize Judith, who felt she was falling asleep at the table. Five minutes later, she was heading for the family quarters, when Joe came out of the door on the second floor.
“Hey—I was just coming down. I talked to Woody. Are you on the way up or checking the guest rooms?”
“Up,” Judith said. “I’m beat.”
Joe took her hand. “Come on. I’ll haul you upstairs. Maybe you’d rather wait until tomorrow to hear what Woody had to say.”
Judith saved her breath until they reached the combination sitting room and office. “No. If it’s a list of items he thought he might not have officially noted, it shouldn’t take long. I can let whatever they are roll around in my brain before I go to sleep.”
“Okay.” Joe picked up a computer printout from his desk and sat down on the settee next to Judith. “First off, Bernard—aka Brick—Frosch has no criminal record. Beaker Schram was in prison at the time of the murder, but he and Jimmy Tooms were in different facilities. Schram was serving a twenty-year stretch for attempted vehicular homicide.” Joe’s green eyes glittered. “He tried to run down his estranged wife after she got off of a bus in the Thurlow District, missed her, but seriously injured a couple of innocent bystanders.”
Judith’s jaw dropped. “My God!” she cried. “Maybe he tried to do the same thing with Brick.”
“I wondered. Woody will check him out. Beaker got out a couple of years early for good behavior. Guess they didn’t let him drive while he was in the slammer.”
“But why would he . . . ?” Judith tried to revive her tired brain. “Never mind. Revenge on Herb for taking Erma—or Elma—away from him. He probably lurked about in the neighborhood, but the elder Frosch was at work and poor Brick was the default victim.”
“Makes sense in the way people with no sense operate,” Joe agreed, taking a sheet of paper out of the computer printer tray. “Without his case file at hand, Woody included some of the crime scene items that he noted at the time. By the way, Hector died January third, 1989.”
Judith nodded, offering her husband a tired smile. “Thanks. And thank Woody for me.”
“Will do.” Joe handed her the two pages of items.
Strap used to strangle vic
Empty vase on floor (knocked over by Mrs. Crabbe?)
Unopened package that had been left on front porch
People and US magazines
Daily Star tabloid (May 27th edition)
Furnishings (undisturbed): sofa, side chair, recliner, end table, one floor lamp, one table lamp, footstool
Fireplace—no sign of recent burning
Mantel with photos of son, daughter, Opal (vic) with fiancé Darrell (Duke) Swisher, 3 figurines, 2 scented candles
Garden gloves (used) on coffee table
Dirt on carpet and residue on vic’s shoes
Kitchen wastebasket containing old tabloid newspapers, aluminum foil, race card from previous weekend, six losing tote tickets (checked), ice cream bar wrapper, crumpled tissues (checked), empty egg carton, 2 receipts from Mel’s Market, 1 from PayView Drug Store, 2 from Garden of Eden Nursery
Garbage can under kitchen sink recently emptied; outside garbage can also empty (pickup day in the neighborhood; can had been moved away from curb, indicating vic had probably retrieved it around 1 p.m.—estimated time of collection in neighborhood
No sign of robbery in vic’s bedroom; costume jewelry seemingly undisturbed; small box containing engagement ring on dresser (given to her by Swisher); photo of son in navy uniform on dresser
No sign of drugs other than over-the-counter; no pot or other illegal items
“That’s much more detailed,” Judith said, still studying the list. “The only thing that leaps to mind is why the engagement ring was in its box. Maybe she didn’t want to flash it around at work. Ruby indicated that Peebles wasn’t exactly a high-class establishment.”
“Maybe she broke up with Swisher,” Joe suggested.
Judith grew thoughtful. “The picture of Opal and Duke was on the mantel. If the engagement was off and she’d removed the ring, I would think she’d also ditch the picture. That’s what women do.”
Joe grimaced. “Did you ditch my photo when I ran off with Vivian?”
“I never had a photo of you. I don’t remember
either of us ever taking pictures of anything.”
“Just as well,” Joe said with a roguish grin. “They might not have gotten by the censors at the photo shop.”
“Joe!” But Judith laughed. “We did have fun, didn’t we?”
Joe fingered her chin and kissed her. “We still do. It just takes longer for us to recover after we have it.”
Later that night, as the rain splattered against the bedroom window and the last leaves from the old cherry tree fluttered to earth, Judith chided herself for not following up on Ruby. Checking her contacts in Little Bavaria would be her morning priority once the guests were fed.
I can’t take on as much as I used to, she told herself, nestling down under the covers. Ruby is a bit of a flake. Maybe I’m on a wild-goose chase. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Dreams took her back to the snow-covered mountain town where a boxlike house of glass hung above the river and a dozen men in lederhosen tore up losing race tickets in the high school parking lot while a dachshund played the accordion—off-key.
Chapter 18
A little after ten the next morning, Judith decided against calling Suzie Stafford, the owner of the pancake house in Little Bavaria. She’d still be hustling breakfasts. Father Dash wouldn’t show up in town until Saturday for the evening Mass at St. Hubert’s and Ruby wasn’t a member of his flock. She decided her best option was Jessi Stromeyer-Bosch at Sadie’s Stories, the local bookshop.
Jessi was elated to hear from Judith. “I never got a chance to talk to you about your scary adventures with a killer,” she said in her pleasant voice. “You were a big topic of conversation in town for days.”
“I suppose things got a bit dull when Oktoberfest was over,” Judith remarked diffidently. “I’m sure my role was exaggerated. I’m trying to get hold of someone my cousin and I met while we were in town. Do you know Ruby Tooms? She was a waitress at the Gray Goose Beer House and Wolfgang’s Gast Haus.”
“I’ve probably seen her,” Jessi replied, “but I can’t say I really know her. Barry and I had dinner at Wolfgang’s Friday,” she added, referring to her boyfriend, who was also Suzie’s son.
“Ruby wasn’t there that night,” Judith explained. “She was here at my B&B. She lost her cell phone while she was in town and I can’t get hold of her. When I called Wolfgang’s they said she didn’t work there anymore. I didn’t check the Gray Goose, as I got the impression she only worked there during the town’s big events.”
“That’s likely,” Jessi agreed. “Jobs in a tourist town are very seasonal. Do you know where she lives?”
Judith searched her memory. “Not exactly. She might be in your phonebook. I do know that it wasn’t far from Wolfgang’s and near the railroad tracks.”
Jessi laughed. “In a town this small, everything is near Wolfgang’s and by the railroad tracks. Maybe Barry has some ideas. He’s staying in town until after the first of the year before going back to his studies in Europe. I expect him to drop by later.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve got a customer. I’d better go. Bookshops need every penny they can get these days. Take care and say hello to your cousin. Your number’s on my caller ID.” Jessi rang off.
Judith checked on her guests in the dining room. Only the mother and daughter from Maine were still eating. Their plans for the day included visiting relatives who lived across the Sound. They’d stay on at Hillside Manor until the following day, when they’d take the train to British Columbia.
Joe left around eight for police headquarters; Phyliss arrived with a new bumbershoot. A miracle, she insisted. Someone had left theirs on the bus that morning because the rain had stopped shortly after sunrise. The Lord had been good to her again, she declared, though she wished the umbrella wasn’t plaid. Judith wished Phyliss would shut up. Or attend a church that didn’t see God sitting at the controls of a heavenly computer commanding every earthly occurrence, but only getting credit for the good stuff.
Renie called shortly after eleven as the last of the guests departed for the day. “What are your plans? I’m freed up for the moment. I’m waiting for those dunderheads at the city’s lighting department to figure out what they want for their new bill inserts. I suggested that in my case, they stop sending me a bill, but they demurred.”
“No kidding,” Judith said. “I’m mulling. Can you come over after lunch to take a look at Woody’s list of the things he didn’t include in his original notes? I was so tired last night that I may’ve missed something.”
“Sure. Shall I dress for public viewing or wear my regular clothes?”
“Given that you look like a bag lady in your regular moth-eaten pants and worn-out sweatshirts, why not at least put on something respectable? And clean. Remnants of root-beer floats do not become you.”
“Hunh. You sure are fussy. Okay—see you around one.”
Judith decided to get an early start boiling the pig hocks for the sauerkraut dinner. She so informed her mother when she took lunch out to the toolshed a little after twelve. Gertrude seemed pleased.
“Nothing like old-fashioned food,” she asserted. “Some of those fancy dishes you throw together are unidentifiable. Who wants beef covered in piecrust? And why is there cheese under a chicken breast that has some shriveled-up thing on top that might be bacon, but isn’t. That’s not real food—it’s like one of those mysteries you try to figure out.”
“I usually only make those recipes for company,” Judith said. “My guests always seem to like what I serve.”
“Even when you blow up your oven trying to cook them?”
“Never mind. That was partly your fault. By the way, Renie and I may go someplace this afternoon.”
“I won’t ask where,” Gertrude replied, after biting into her salami sandwich. “I have a date.”
“With who?”
“Carl. He’s coming over to play cribbage with me. Now, there’s a man who makes me wish I were twenty years younger. Or would it be more like forty? He knows how to treat a lady—unlike Lunkhead.”
“I doubt Arlene will let you borrow him for anything more than an afternoon of cribbage. Have fun with Carl, Mother.”
Judith headed back to the house. Renie showed up an hour later.
“How do I look?” she asked, twirling around in the kitchen.
“Much improved,” Judith replied, taking in her cousin’s forest-green slacks, black cowl-necked cashmere sweater, and black high-heeled boots. “You’re clean, too. How come you got the car? Is Bill staying home this afternoon?”
“It’s not raining, so he decided he’d walk up to the top of the hill and browse the bakery. Where’s that list Woody gave you?”
Judith removed the two pages from the manila envelope she’d put them in earlier that morning. “I haven’t gone over it since last night, so maybe I should take another look after you finish.”
“Okay.” Renie began to read through the items, but before going to the second page, she held out a hand. “Pepsi, please. I need fuel.”
Judith produced a cold can of Pepsi from the fridge. “See anything interesting yet?”
“Wait until I’m done.” Renie paused to swig down some soda. Judith waited patiently across the table. Finally her cousin looked up. “The losing tote tickets. People usually tear them up at the track. It’s almost a reflex action. Nobody likes to hang on to a loser. Why did Opal do that?”
Judith thought for a moment. “If the tickets were for the last race or two, they may’ve left early and didn’t know who won until they heard it on the radio or saw it in the paper. I recall doing that once or twice.”
“True. Unfortunately, Woody doesn’t say what race they were for. Think of another reason.”
“Offhand, I can’t.”
“What if they’d won? Especially if they won big? They wouldn’t care about losing tickets.” Renie leaned forward. “I keep my tickets in my wallet until a race is over. If they’re losers, I toss them. But if I won big, I might not bother. I’d be too excited.”
&nb
sp; “I understand,” Judith said, frowning. “But I still don’t get it.”
Renie grimaced. “I’m not sure I do either, but it seems odd.”
Judith thought for a few moments. “Let’s say she and Duke did win big that day. I’m assuming she went to the track with him. Opal somehow strikes me as a person who would get very excited. Other people around her would know she won. Maybe she collected the winnings and took them home, but didn’t put the cash in the bank. If so, we have robbery as a motive for murder. Woody wouldn’t look for money he never knew existed.”
“It’s a theory,” Renie said. “Come to think of it, wouldn’t Opal have told Ruby about a big win?”
“Ruby was spending most of her time at Freddy Mae’s when she wasn’t in school,” Judith reminded Renie. “Maybe Opal didn’t have a chance to tell her.” She sighed. “Let’s move on. Anything else?”
“I don’t think so,” Renie said, after giving the list another look. “I’m wondering what isn’t on this list that should be. No daily newspaper, but even back then not everybody was a regular subscriber.” She leaned back in the chair, arms folded. “We’re missing something.”
Judith started to shake her head, but stopped. “The light bill.”
Renie sat up straight. “Oh! The shutoff notice? But didn’t Ruby say the bill got paid?”
“That’s what I mean. Ruby never knew who paid it. Being a kid back then, she didn’t try to find out.”
“Swisher, maybe?” Renie suggested.
“He’d be the most likely.” Judith was silent for a moment. “Did you say you were about to start a project for the lighting department?”
“Right. I’ve done work for them before. This is actually a fairly small job, though it’s the kind that can bring out the nitpickers.”
“Would they have billing statements from fifteen years ago?”
“They might.” Renie frowned. “My contact in that department is fairly new. A woman . . . Janice . . . Santelli. I haven’t worked with that group for a long time. Shall I call her?”