Murder, My Suite

by Mary Daheim

  Sitting on one of Judith’s matching beige sofas, Dagmar fanned herself with her hand. She was now wearing a yellowish-orange crepe dress with another matching turban and scarf. The famous columnist reminded Judith of a large cheese.

  “I thought the Pacific Northwest was cool and damp,” Dagmar complained. “What’s with all this heat? And sunshine.”

  Judith retained her sweet smile. “Some years we actually have a summer. This is one of them. Trout pâté? Pickled herring? Smoked salmon?” She proffered the tray to Dagmar.

  Dagmar recoiled. “Fish! Herring! I was raised on all this in Minneapolis! What’s wrong with Brie and stuffed mushrooms?”

  “Ohhh!” Judith tried to appear disappointed. “I feel awful! If you were going to be here for another night, I’d serve you your favorites. I feel so remiss.”

  Seemingly assuaged, Dagmar sampled the smoked salmon. “This is an improvement over the Cascadia Hotel. You can be sure they’ll get an unflattering mention in an upcoming column. How dare they ask me to leave! No one in his right mind could blame Rover for biting the concierge!”

  At present, Rover was cowering on the hearth. Dagmar gave him the rest of her smoked salmon. Judith cringed.

  Freddy had added something of an amber hue to his highball glass. Judging from his somewhat unsteady gait, he’d probably added it two or three times since his visit to the kitchen.

  “That was after we got tossed,” he said, leaning against the grandfather clock for support. “It was the Grand Ballroom that caused the real problem.”

  Judith eyed Freddy curiously, but it was Dagmar who answered the unspoken question: “Well, where else could you walk a dog in a place like that? How did we know they were hosting the Japanese ambassador that night? Rover didn’t care much for the raw fish, but he thought those little strips of beef were delicious.”

  Agnes returned to the living room with a sterling silver bowl, which she placed in front of Rover. Judith noticed that some of her bottled water was in the bowl. Rover lapped it up like a lush at an open bar.

  “Good puppy,” said Agnes in her soft, mushy voice. Shyly, she smiled at Judith. “Pets are such endearing creatures. Like babies. They break down barriers and allow human beings to become acquainted.”

  Judith tried not to look askance. “A hello and a handshake often serve as well.” Seeing Agnes all but recoil at the suggestion of such social aggressiveness, Judith gave a little shrug. “It depends upon the situation, of course. And the people involved.”

  Agnes, who was still on her knees watching Rover slurp, darted a diffident look at Dagmar. “Mia made friends with Rover, didn’t she? Before the accident?”

  Dagmar’s visage was stern. “Mia Prohowska doesn’t care for animals. Unless you count Nat Linski. As for the alleged ‘accident,’ Rover merely nipped two of the skaters in the Ice Dreams supporting cast. They shouldn’t have tried to interfere with his swim in the hotel pool. Attempting to drown my adorable poochy-woochy was hardly civilized behavior.”

  Judith couldn’t conceal her curiosity. “Mia Prohowska and Nat Linksi are staying at the Cascadia Hotel? My cousin’s daughter and her friends are going to…”

  Freddy was smirking in his tipsy, rodentlike way. Judith envisioned a drunken gerbil, trying to cope with a runaway Rollo-Ball. “Skaters! Ice! Skimpy costumes! I love it! Talk about T&A! ’Cept those skaters don’t have much T.”

  “You’re referring to the men, I trust.” Dagmar’s expression was one of reproof. She favored Judith with a cool gaze. “Yes, Mia and Nat and their troupe were at the Cascadia. A revolting group, by and large. Mia feigns an interest in freedom and democracy. Frankly, all she cares about is money. And Nat sees that she makes plenty of it.” With a vicious stab, Dagmar attacked a slice of pickled herring. “That will end soon, of course. As all bad things must.”

  Startled, Judith was about to ask why when the phone rang. She picked it up on the second ring, but Joe had already answered in the kitchen.

  “So what’s your problem?” Joe asked, sounding dangerously mild.

  Whoever had called hung up. Judith frowned and did likewise. “Wrong number,” she remarked with a fatuous smile. Her guests appeared indifferent. Except, Judith thought, for Dagmar, whose forehead wrinkled slightly before she flounced about on the sofa in an exaggerated manner.

  “Have you bought my book yet?” she asked, feeding Rover another serving of smoked salmon. “It’s terribly shocking. You’d be amazed how badly famous people behave.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Judith replied promptly as Rover shook himself and leaped up to settle next to his mistress on the sofa. “I’ll be sure to put in a reserve for the book at the library.”

  Dagmar was aghast. “The library?” She made it sound like a dirty word. “Why don’t you buy it, like real people do?”

  Still trying to control her patience, Judith gave Dagmar a self-deprecating smile. “I used to be a librarian. That’s what I majored in at the university. Besides, hardcover books are so expensive these days.”

  Dagmar dismissed Judith’s attempt at economy with a sneer. “It’s people like you who undermine authors. What’s twenty-four-ninety-five? You can’t get a facial that cheap.”

  Since Judith hadn’t had a facial in almost thirty years, the argument fell flat. But she felt it was unwise to say so. “I’ll try to stop at the Heraldsgate Bookstore in the next couple of days,” she lied.

  “I should think so.” Dagmar’s crepe-clad body shuddered. “The library! How pedestrian!”

  Judith ignored the comment. Ordinarily, she stayed at the appetizer hour only long enough to make sure that her guests had everything they needed for their relaxation and enjoyment. The hands on the grandfather clock showed that it was now almost seven. Joe would be hungry, and Gertrude was no doubt in a tizzy. Judith’s mother preferred eating at five o’clock, and only under duress had she given in to waiting an extra hour.

  Excusing herself, Judith went back to the kitchen to dish up the family meal. She wasn’t surprised to find Gertrude and her walker positioned by the stove. Sweetums was sitting in front of the refrigerator.

  “Are you joining us tonight?” Judith asked, wondering if her mother’s appearance in the house indicated an unexpected change of heart toward Joe.

  “Are you kidding?” Gertrude rasped. “I came to see if you were dead. Supper’s almost an hour late. What’s going on?”

  The kitchen seemed even warmer than the living room. Judith again mopped perspiration from her brow. Her breathing was better, but the Benadryl had made her sleepy. She wasn’t up to coping with her mother’s complaints. Swiftly she began dishing up the sliced peaches, the green salad, and the open-faced sandwich. She also grabbed a can of seafood banquet for Sweetums.

  “Come on, Mother, I’ll take this stuff to your apartment right now. I got a little behind this afternoon.” Judith didn’t look Gertrude in the eye.

  Gertrude, however, didn’t budge. “Your behind’s not so little. Where’s my dessert?”

  Judith hadn’t planned on dessert. It was too hot for a heavy meal. “I’ll bring you a dish of ice cream later,” she promised.

  Seemingly appeased, Gertrude steered her walker toward the back door. With both hands full, Judith had to move quickly to keep the screen from hitting her in the face. She had crossed the threshold when Sweetums flew past, his great plume of a tail swishing against her calves.

  “Open-faced sandwiches aren’t my favorite, you know, kiddo,” said Gertrude, clumping down the walk. “They’re fine for bridge-club lunches, but supper ought to be hearty. When was the last time you fixed a pot roast?”

  “April,” Judith answered without hesitation. “The weather’s been too warm to have the oven on all day to cook a pot roast. Nobody feels like stuffing themselves in this kind of heat. That’s why I’ve been serving lighter menus.”

  “Lighter!” Gertrude turned to give her daughter a disgusted look. “If they were any lighter, I’d float away! What happened to t
he ambrosia?”

  “I didn’t have time to make it,” Judith responded, feeling her crankiness return. “Besides, you’ve got peaches and—”

  At that moment Rover came bounding out of the house, heading straight for Sweetums, who was chasing a yellow-and-black butterfly in the vicinity of Judith’s phlox. Sensing danger, the cat froze, orange and yellow fur on end. Rover moved in to attack.

  The animals streaked around the backyard, past the laurel hedge, the rose bushes, the rhododendrons, the Shasta daisies, and the gladioli. Rover barked and barked. Sweetums leaped from a lawn chair to the barbecue. Rover followed; Sweetums fled in the direction of Judith’s prized dahlias, which were about to bloom.

  “Hey,” yelled Gertrude, “knock it off!”

  Her cries went unheeded. Judith made an end run around her mother so that she could deposit the food in the former toolshed. But not only was Gertrude’s door closed, it was locked.

  “Mother!” Judith called. “Open this sucker! Why did you lock it in the first place?”

  Gertrude was still making her laborious way to the toolshed. “Are you nuts? With the kind of guests you get, I wouldn’t trust ’em an inch!”

  Sweetums was now back on the porch, vainly trying to open the screen door with his paw. Rover was upon him. The two animals tumbled and whirled in a blur of color. Judith and Gertrude both yelled.

  Judith set Gertrude’s supper down on the walk and raced to separate cat and dog. Trying to grab both of their collars, Judith felt Sweetums’s claws rake her arm and Rover’s teeth sink into her leg. Fighting the pain, she finally managed to pull the warring animals apart. Giving Rover a sharp boot, she sent him back into the house. Sweetums’s furious little yellow eyes regarded Judith with distress and contempt. She picked him up in her arms and held on tight as he tried to struggle free.

  “Open your door!” Judith screamed at Gertrude. “Sweetums is hurt!”

  A torn ear, a missing chunk of fur, and a crooked tail didn’t bode well for Sweetums’s health. Surprisingly, he settled down in Judith’s arms as she carried him into the toolshed.

  “He’s got to go to the vet,” Judith declared, carefully resting the cat on Gertrude’s plaid settee. “I’ll call from here.”

  “They’ll be closed.” Gertrude sat down next to Sweetums. Gingerly, she placed a hand on his neck. “Poor dopey little guy. He looks beat.”

  “He’s beat up,” Judith replied angrily. “I’m furious with Dagmar, but the truth is, it’s all my fault. I should never have let them bring Rover to Hillside Manor.”

  A recorded voice answered Judith’s call to the vet. The office had closed at five-thirty, but there was an emergency number. Judith dialed it. Dr. Jack Smith answered on the third ring. He agreed to meet Judith at his clinic in half an hour.

  “This is going to cost me,” Judith murmured, gently stroking Sweetums’s disarranged fur. “I’ll come back here to collect our little warrior at seven-thirty. Don’t let him outside.” She started for the door.

  “Hey,” Gertrude called, “where’s my supper?”

  Judith paused to retrieve her mother’s meal. The plate was empty. On the other side of the yard, Rover was doing something nasty to Judith’s dahlias. Judith felt like doing something equally nasty to Dagmar Delacroix Chatsworth.

  Judith skipped dinner. Having replenished Gertrude’s supper, she realized there wasn’t enough food left for an extra serving. Judith announced to Joe that she had to take Sweetums to the vet. Her explanation was brief, because she wanted to confront Dagmar before the Chatsworth party left for dinner.

  Dagmar, Freddy, and Agnes were still in the living room. Freddy was now in the old rocking chair, looking extremely woozy. Agnes knelt on the hearth, next to a subdued Rover. Dagmar jumped off the sofa when Judith entered the room.

  “You ought to be in jail!” she screamed at Judith. “I thought this was a reputable establishment! Your wretched mound of mange has wounded my poor fluffy-wuffy! Rover’s nose is scratched! He’ll have to get cosmetic surgery! I’ll sue!”

  Judith, who hadn’t yet tended to her own wounds, glared at Dagmar. “I hope Rover has had his rabies shots. He doesn’t act like it.” She stuck out her right leg to show Dagmar the canine bite. “I’ll countersue! You never told me your dog was completely undisciplined!”

  “Undisciplined? How dare you!” Dagmar’s head—turban, scarf, and all—swerved in Agnes’s direction. “I’m not to blame. That was Agnes who called you from the Cascadia.”

  “I don’t give a damn who called.” Judith was trying to get her temper under control. “I was too lenient. Pets are against the rules, and if you’d read our listing in the B&B guide, you would have known it.”

  Dagmar glowered at Agnes, then at Judith. “That was all Agnes’s doing. She exhibited gross incompetence, but that’s not my fault. Or Rover’s.” She turned back to Agnes. “Call a veterinarian. The very best this two-bit town has to offer. Rover must be seen at once.”

  Freddy was rocking back and forth, singing softly to the tune of “My Old Kentucky Home”: “The sun goes down on our darling little Rover…”

  Judith tried to ignore him. Agnes had dutifully gone over to the bay window next to the bookcase where the telephone directories were kept. Dagmar, mincing on her high-heeled pumps, was making another pass at the punch bowl. Absently, Judith noticed that it was still almost half full. Her other guests apparently hadn’t imbibed too freely, Freddy had his fifth in the paper bag, and Agnes didn’t seem to be drinking at all.

  Freddy was still singing: “…’tis summer, the poochie got scratched…”

  Agnes was sitting on the window seat, looking anxious and dialing the phone. Seeing no purpose in continuing the argument with Dagmar, Judith made her exit. She had less than ten minutes to secure Sweetums and drive to the top of Heraldsgate Hill, where Dr. Smith’s office was located.

  Joe stopped her on the way out the back door. “Do you want me to keep an eye on these goons while you’re gone? Or should I go with you?”

  Judith considered. “They’re out of here for dinner in a few minutes or en route to a gold-plated vet. Why don’t you drive and I’ll hold Sweetums?”

  Joe agreed. They took his aging red MG and arrived at the vet’s two minutes ahead of Dr. Smith. Half an hour later, Sweetums had salve, shots, antibiotics, and a bill for one hundred and eighty-seven dollars.

  “This Chatsworth crew has impoverished me,” Judith groaned as they headed back down the steep section of Heraldsgate Hill known as the Counterbalance. “Why did I ever let them stay here?”

  Joe reached over and patted her knee. “You’re too good-hearted, Jude-girl. Stop beating yourself up.”

  Judith gave a faint nod, then assessed her losses: two hundred dollars in deductible, almost an equal amount in veterinarian bills. If Dagmar didn’t carry out her threat to sue, Judith was still ahead, if barely. She gazed down at the unusually quiet Sweetums in her lap and smiled faintly. Money wasn’t everything, and she was better off financially than she had ever been. But more importantly, she was happy.

  Judith rested her hand on Joe’s leg. “I shouldn’t gripe about things. I’ve got you.”

  The gold flecks in Joe’s green eyes danced, then suddenly faded. “I wonder if I’ll ever stop kicking myself for eloping with Herself.”

  The reference to Joe’s first wife no longer rankled Judith. She had let Joe’s betrayal eat at her for more than twenty years. Now that they had been reunited, she had put the past to rest. She wanted Joe to do the same.

  “It’s now that counts, not then,” Judith said softly as they turned into the cul-de-sac. “Maybe we needed to go through the fire to appreciate each other. If there had been no Dan McMonigle and no Vivian Flynn, we might not take so much pleasure from our middle years. This way, it’s like being young again. We’ve been given a fresh start. I cherish that.”

  Shifting the MG’s gears, Joe reversed into their driveway. After he shut the engine off, he turned to Judith. �
��You’ve always had a knack for looking at the bright side. I wish I did. Being a cop can make you gloomy.”

  “You’re not gloomy,” Judith countered. Indeed, Joe’s natural buoyancy was one of the first things that had attracted her to him. That, and his sense of humor and love of adventure and willingness to take a few risks. Despite some similarities, Joe and Judith complemented each other in many ways.

  Suddenly Judith recalled Joe’s flippant remark to Freddy Whobrey. She put her hands on his shoulders. Sweetums stirred in her lap. “Joe—did you really shoot someone today?”

  The green eyes seemed to shut down on Judith, as if Joe had barred the door to his soul. “I had no choice. It was a hostage situation. He’d already killed the tavern owner.”

  “Is the guy dead?”

  “No. But he may never walk again.” Joe expelled a breath of air, his usually florid face pale.

  Judith gently kneaded Joe’s shoulders. “Why you? Where was the special assault unit? Aren’t they the ones who handle hostage cases?”

  Joe nodded. His color was returning. “The call Woody and I got tagged it a straight homicide—the owner of My Brew Heaven and his bartender had gotten into a big fight. The bartender shot the owner. Dead. Our understanding from the patrol car was that the bartender was giving himself up. But the circumstances had changed by the time we arrived. The guy had taken the owner’s wife hostage. I had one chance, and I took it. Otherwise, it could have been the wife, Woody—or me.” Joe’s expression was rueful.

  Judith imagined the scene, with the desperate killer, the terrified wife, and the dead tavern owner on the floor. She could picture Joe and his partner, Woody Price, suddenly faced with an explosive situation. Judith knew it wasn’t the first time that her husband had been required to fire his weapon. But it was the first time it had happened since they’d gotten married. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. Sweetums made a retching sound, but kept his claws to himself.

  “You should have told me everything when you came home,” she said. “I thought you were joking with Freddy Whoa. You seemed pretty frisky to me.” She gave him a mischievous smile.