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

by Mary Daheim

  Joe looked puzzled. “Anybody who wants to take on the assignment. I’ve never been asked to do that. Hell, I don’t hang out with my fellow private eyes much. Why do you ask?”

  Judith regaled him with Jess’s story. “I wasn’t sure he was telling the truth at first,” she said in conclusion, “but it makes some kind of wacky sense, given what I can figure out about Hector Sparks.”

  Joe looked thoughtful. “I’ve heard of stranger things with rich people disposing of their estates. Hector’s idea beats leaving his money to a pet ferret. It even makes sense about young people blowing a windfall.”

  “I agree,” Judith said. “It also might explain why Ruby kept seeing the guy with the hooked nose and jutting chin. Maybe he was the PI. But would he be the one who drugged her and stole her purse?”

  Joe touched Judith’s cheek. “I’ve spoiled you with my utter integrity and high standards. There are some sleazebags in my profession, just as with doctors, lawyers, and maybe Indian chiefs. In fact, that one on the porch with the corn-kernel eyes looks suspicious to me. You can’t look him in the eye because he doesn’t have any.”

  “Skip that,” Judith said. “Do you know any sleazebag PIs?”

  Joe leaned back on the settee and stretched out his legs. “Not really. Woody might, but what’s the point? The guy’s doing his job and he earned his money. Nailing him could get his license suspended—if he has one—but what’s any of that got to do with who killed Opal?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Judith admitted. “But I’d like to know why Opal’s heirs never got their money. Maybe Hector’s lawyers were sleazebags, too. Or dilatory, at best. I remember Aunt Deb talking about the attorney she worked for as a legal secretary and how he’d take forever to settle an estate, and sometimes so many years went by that the heirs had died.”

  “It can happen, I suppose,” Joe said. “You see that sort of thing in the legal notices they run in the newspapers. But I still think you’ve gotten distracted. Focus on the murder itself. Your forte is in the details. You have some unusual gift for going beyond motive, evidence, opportunity—all the usual things we normal detectives consider.”

  Judith frowned. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve gone offtrack.”

  “You’ll get back on board,” Joe assured her. “Dare I ask if the fire did any damage?”

  “Only to the rhododendron. It needed pruning anyway.”

  Joe nodded. “Okay. Let’s get serious here and find out what’s going on in one of our parallel universes.” He turned the sound back on. Judith snuggled up next to him and tried to keep her mind off of what was happening in her own little world of more mundane, but equally mysterious murder.

  Chapter 21

  Judith slept like a log that night. She remembered no dreams and woke up Thursday morning feeling refreshed. The B&B was booked through the weekend. Until early January, Hillside Manor would turn a solid profit. The weeks after that would be lean until St. Valentine’s Day. Then would come the long, often dry, haul into spring. But she was used to the seasonal ebb and flow of guests. Despite the hard work and uncertainties of her chosen field, running her own business gave her a sense of pride.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Phyliss declared upon her arrival. “Why don’t you have that beautiful Thanksgiving wreath up on the front porch? And what happened to that big rhododendron out there? It looks as if somebody torched it. Is that one of your semipagan religious rituals?”

  “I had a little accident,” Judith replied, not wanting to go into details or let the cleaning woman spoil her buoyant mood. “Make sure you check on all the guest rooms. They’ll be full tonight.”

  Phyliss harrumphed, but headed upstairs. Judith went into the dining room to make sure that the half-dozen people who were currently eating breakfast had everything they needed. The couple from Juneau raved over the waffles. The pair from Kansas City asked for powdered sugar. They didn’t care for syrup on their French toast.

  Joe called from police headquarters to tell Judith that Woody had sent him the original mug shots of Beaker—real name Lawrence—Schram so she could make sure it was the same guy she’d seen at the Frosch house.

  “Add at least fifteen years,” Joe advised. “I just faxed the pix. I’ll hold while you take a look.”

  Judith tapped her foot while waiting for the delivery into the printer tray. She gasped before removing them. “Good grief! I never got to see much of his face, but this guy has a hooked nose and jutting chin!”

  “I suppose,” Joe said drily, “that’s why he’s called Beaker.”

  “That’s not the point,” Judith said excitedly. “He must be the man Ruby recognized from . . . somewhere.”

  “Hunh. You could be right. Any way to check it?”

  “Well . . . maybe.”

  “You work on that,” Joe said. “I’ve got to call Bill.”

  Judith dialed The Persian Cat. A recording told her to phone back during business hours. Frustrated, she sat at the kitchen table. The café didn’t open for at least another hour. Crissy, The Persian Cat waitress, hadn’t mentioned anything remarkable about the man who had been with Ruby. In fact, he hadn’t sounded much like Beaker Schram. Judith found that odd.

  “Hallelujah!” Phyliss cried from hallway, making Judith jump. “When I took the last load out of the dryer, one of those green washcloths was missing to that new set. I looked all over and I couldn’t find it, so I asked the Lord to show me the way, and sure enough, there it was, in my other hand. When one door closes, another door opens, as they say.”

  “Good for you, Phyliss,” Judith said halfheartedly.

  “Amen,” Phyliss declared, before going upstairs.

  But for once, Judith realized Phyliss was right. There was one door that had only been half opened. She looked up the number of O’Reilly’s Pub, hoping its owners were already on the job. To her relief, Annie answered on the third ring.

  After reintroducing herself, Judith got to the point. “I’m trying to track down someone who may’ve been in your pub a week ago Wednesday afternoon.” She described Ruby, adding that she might have been with an older man.

  “Oh, yes,” Annie replied. “They came in together, but she didn’t look very happy about it. I wondered—given the age difference—if he was her dad. But they sat in a booth for a long time, drinking beer and eating snacks. She left first, and very unsteady she was, though I’m sure she hadn’t had more than a couple of drinks. He paid their tab and left not long after that. Oh! There was one other thing . . . she didn’t have a purse, at least not when she left. I suppose that’s why he paid.”

  “Thanks, Annie,” Judith said triumphantly. “You’ve made my day.”

  Annie chuckled. “I wish I could do that for everybody.”

  As soon as Judith hung up, the phone rang again. “Got to make this quick.” Joe explained that Bill was taking the bus downtown around two and they’d drive to the Watkins house in their guise as building inspectors. After that they wanted to go to the new sporting goods store. If there was any big news, he’d call Judith. If there was some new winter fishing gear at the store, they both might be late for dinner.

  “They’re idiots,” Renie declared when she phoned a few minutes later. “They’ll pay big bucks for a bunch of flashy lures and high-tech reels, but still get skunked. What’s the point?”

  “Let them have their fun while I tell you about Beaker Schram.”

  Renie was aghast. “Why would he do such a thing to Ruby?”

  “He somehow tracked her down, maybe via her cell,” Judith replied. “He probably wanted to know if Opal had gotten Hector’s money. If she hadn’t, maybe Erma had, and he felt she owed him. The Frosches haven’t been in the rental long enough to be in the phone book. Face it, the guy’s a head case.”

  “He must be if he drugged poor Ruby. No wonder he stole her purse. It’s a miracle he didn’t take her cash, too.”

  “He’s self-destructive,” Judith asserted. “Beaker may be one of thos
e guys who likes prison better than the ‘real world.’ Say,” she said as yet another idea struck her, “why can’t we show up at the Watkins place in our role as Modern Manse magazine staffers?”

  “Because our husbands would kill us,” Renie retorted. “This is their finest hour. We can’t spoil their fun.”

  “How could we spoil it? Come on, coz, be a sport. They might get a kick out of it. It’d be a couples thing.”

  “The only kick we’d get is in our rear ends when we went sailing out the front door,” Renie said. “You got any better ideas? I still have some free time. I haven’t heard back from Ms. Santelli. I’m bored.”

  Judith thought for a moment or two. “What I’d like to do is call Jess Sparks to see if his PI could look for Ruby in Little Bavaria. But he should think of that himself. Besides, Jess was on duty last night when he came here to put out the fire, so he may be off—”

  “What are you talking about?” Renie interrupted.

  Judith realized she hadn’t told her cousin about the previous evening’s events. “Never mind. Get presentable and be here around one. I’ll fill you in after I hatch a plan. I have to make Mother’s lunch.”

  “Fine. See you in an hour.” Renie rang off.

  Judith hustled for the next sixty minutes, fixing Gertrude’s meal, making a sandwich for herself, taking two new reservations, seeing that Phyliss knew what else needed to be done around the house, and realizing she should go to the grocery store, but that would have to wait.

  Renie arrived at five after one, wearing a fitted brown faux alligator jacket, taupe slacks, knee-high leather boots, a trailing beige chiffon scarf, and a fawn-colored snap-brim hat.

  “Good grief!” Judith exclaimed. “You look . . . overdone.”

  “But I’m presentable. It’s Hermès.”

  “It looks more like Hisses,” Judith said. “But it’s certainly . . . something.” She glanced down at her own navy tailored slacks and red sweater over a white blouse. “I feel very plain, if patriotic.”

  “Hey, ‘America the Beautiful’—you do all the talking when we’re on this gig. At least I can make a visual statement. I even borrowed one of Bill’s snap-brim caps. Jaunty, huh? Let’s hit it. We’ll take Cammy. You can tell me all as we head out for wherever we’re going. Start with how your rhododendron out front got fried.”

  After they’d settled into the car, Judith told Renie to head back to the Thurlow District, an order that her cousin grudgingly obeyed. By the time they’d reached the now-familiar turnoff, Judith had concluded recounting the previous evening’s events—including the flora flambé by the porch.

  Renie seemed bemused. “I kind of like your gimmick to get Jess Sparks to your house. But wouldn’t it have been easier and even less dangerous to talk to him on the phone?”

  “I couldn’t take that chance,” Judith said. “He might’ve been called to duty at any moment. Besides, I like to study people when I chat with them. Body language and facial expressions are crucial.”

  “True,” Renie allowed. “I can’t say I’m sorry you sacrificed Aunt Ellen’s wreath. That was right up there with the Christmas tree ornaments she made out of pig’s feet. Now where are we headed?” she inquired as they turned onto the Thurlow District’s main street.

  “The Persian Cat,” Judith said. “I want another look. I’d like to know if Mr. Alipur is really running some sort of illegal operation behind the kitchen. Maybe you could fake a peanut allergy.”

  “Again? I had to do that in Little Bavaria. Give me a different job. Besides, did the clientele look like the sporting type?”

  “Of course not. They seemed very genteel. A perfect cover.”

  “Okay.” Renie slowed down as they came within a block of the café. “Somebody’s pulling out. Maybe I can nab that spot.”

  To Judith’s horror, Renie made a U-turn against oncoming traffic and almost plowed into a light standard when she went up on the curb. “Damn,” she muttered. “I wish I had depth perception like other people. I could’ve sworn that pole was a couple of yards away.”

  Judith had a hand on her breast. “Honestly, someday you’re going to get us killed!”

  “That’s your job, not mine,” Renie said. “Oops! Looks like we’re too late. The Persian Cat has flown the coop. Or fled the cathouse.”

  Judith turned to stare at the “Closed” sign on the door. “I’ll be darned,” she murmured. “Maybe Swede was right.”

  “Are we going to bust in anyway?”

  Judith considered the idea. “No. It’s probably impossible. There could be somebody still inside.” She rolled down the window for a better look. “Everything’s in place and tidy. It doesn’t appear that the café was abandoned in haste. If the cops shut the operation down, they usually post an official notice. Maybe they haven’t had time to do that. Or Mr. Alipur got advance warning.”

  “Now what?” Renie asked.

  “Head for the former Tooms house. I want to study the neighborhood more closely.”

  “Are we calling on Ziva again? This time I’d like to be a Camp Fire Girl. An old Camp Fire Girl, of course.”

  “No. I think we’ve gotten everything out of Ziva that she knows. I’m more interested in demographics.”

  Renie pulled out into traffic, forcing a FedEx van to come to a screeching stop. “Gosh,” she said, “I hope that’s not one of the drivers who delivers to our house. I like those guys.”

  “Wrong route,” Judith remarked absently. She pointed to the windshield. “Follow that bus.”

  “Okay. Why not? I don’t see any cabs. I guess you’re not ready to tell me what your recent insight is, right?”

  “Not quite. I’m still mulling. Jess’s revelations threw me off my pace last night.”

  The bus turned the corner three blocks away from The Persian Cat. After making one stop and going another four blocks, it stopped again. Two teenagers got off.

  “Pull over,” Judith said.

  “Pull over what?”

  “Just do it.”

  Renie managed to reach the curb without incident. “Now what?”

  “We wait.” Judith noticed the greenery of a pocket park by the bus stop. “Interesting,” she murmured.

  “What? All I see is a bus. Oh—the driver’s getting off. This must be the end of the line.”

  “In more ways than one,” Judith said. “Skip driving by the former Tooms house. We’re going to catch up with the intrepid building inspectors.”

  Renie sighed. “I should have known. We’re about to face off with the most dangerous adversaries of all time. Our husbands.”

  Judith checked her watch. “It’s only a few minutes after two. They won’t have arrived yet. Our timing is perfect.” She dug into her purse to get her cell and dialed Woody’s direct number. The call was transferred to a receptionist. Judith asked to have the precinct captain contact her as soon as he was available.

  Renie scowled at Judith. “We need Woody? Now I’m getting nervous. At least he’ll be armed. I don’t think this jacket is bulletproof.”

  It took five minutes to reach the Watkins house. On this gray November afternoon, the stark structure clinging to the edge of the hill looked forbidding, reminding Judith of a giant bird about to pounce on its unwary prey.

  Renie pulled up on the verge and gazed at Judith. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “It’s the only idea,” Judith declared. “See those packing crates in the driveway? I have a strange feeling that Marla and Lee are about to take off. It just dawned on me that the rest of the house wasn’t empty because it had never been furnished, but because it’s been cleaned out.”

  “Maybe they’ve already left,” Renie said.

  “We’re about to find out,” Judith replied as she got out of the car.

  The cousins trudged up to the door. Renie pressed the bell. The cheerful, nostalgic “Trolley Song” didn’t fit its austere setting.

  Again, Myrna Grissom took her time coming to the door. “Oh,�
� she said glumly, “you’re back. I suppose you want to see Mrs. Watkins.”

  “Yes,” Judith said. “Is Mr. Watkins here? We only met him briefly on the way out the other day.”

  “He’s here somewhere,” Myrna said tersely. “I’ll get the missus.”

  “Remember,” Judith whispered to Renie, “you’re French.”

  “Good thing I’m wearing Hermès,” Renie whispered back.

  Marla Watkins appeared in a flowing purple-and-black caftan. Despite her artful makeup, she looked tired. “Well!” she said with forced enthusiasm. “Does this mean we’re going to be featured in Modern Manx?”

  “Manse,” Judith corrected gently. “It’s very promising. The final decision will be made Monday. You’ll be available, I trust?”

  “Of course,” Marla responded. “Would you care to sit? The view from the solarium is a bit gloomy today, though.”

  “We were hoping Mr. Watkins could join us.” She turned to Renie. “Isn’t that right, Renée?”

  “Oui,” Renie said.

  “I think,” Marla said, “Mrs. Grissom has gone to fetch him. He’s downstairs in the saloon. We entertain there. It’s fitted out like a ship. The water view, you know.”

  “It sounds elegant,” Judith said as her cell rang. “Oh, excuse me. You and Renée go on ahead. I’ll be right there.”

  “Enchantée,” Renie said. “Merci.” She followed Marla down the hall.

  Judith hurriedly picked up the call. “Woody? This is Judith. I have to make this quick. Now, here’s what I’d like you to do . . .”

  It took her no more than a minute to give her instructions. Woody wasted no time with questions. Judith had just rung off when she saw Lee Watkins. He’d opened one of the sliding panels out of her line of sight while she’d been talking to Woody.

  “What was that all about?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed.

  “My editor,” she replied. “He’s in town and wants to see the house.”

  “Okay,” Lee said. “Why don’t I fix drinks for you and your helper.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Judith said. “We won’t be staying long.”