by Mary Daheim
He opened the car door. “It takes a while for the bad stuff to sink in. Coming home to you helps. The world doesn’t look so off-center when I see you standing at the kitchen sink.”
Hanging onto Sweetums, Judith got out of the MG. “I’ll try to keep my own perspective while these loonies are still here. But thank heavens they’ll be gone tomorrow. Who could ask for anything more?”
Judith could, if she’d known what lay ahead.
When Judith and Joe returned around eight-thirty, the house seemed a trifle cooler and the guests were gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, Judith carried Sweetums out to the toolshed. Gertrude’s little apartment felt like a sauna, but its occupant still wore her heavy sweater. Judith immediately began to perspire again..
Gertrude put the cat on her favorite chair, an overstuffed mohair-covered piece that had been Donald Grover’s domain for almost thirty years. Judith could picture her scholarly father reading and smoking next to a floor lamp with a burnished brass stand. When not teaching high school classes the rudiments of the English language, Donald Grover had lived in striped T-shirts, all of which he’d burned with careless ash from his cigarettes, or absentmindedly picked threadbare while absorbed in his book of choice. Judith’s smile was wistful as she watched the family cat settle down for a much-needed nap.
“He’s tuckered out,” noted Gertrude. Despite her obvious sympathy, her small eyes glittered with an emotion Judith could not define. “Say,” she went on, “that salmon sandwich wasn’t half bad. But why did you put it on hard bread? It’s not easy to eat with my dentures.”
“You managed, though,” Judith noted dryly, wishing she’d had a similar chance at her own meal. The combination of hot weather, ill-mannered guests, lack of food, allergic reaction, and the crisis with Sweetums had worn her down. “I’m heading for an early night. I hope it isn’t too hot upstairs.”
Gertrude snorted, the spark in her eyes fading. “How can it be anything else, with that shanty Irishman? If they’re not drinking like fish, they’re…never mind.” She assumed her most prudish expression.
Judith wasn’t in the mood to argue with her mother. “You know how stifling it can get on the third floor in weather like this.”
Gertrude snorted again. “I used to know. I lived there. For fifty years.”
“No, you didn’t,” Judith countered, feeling a web of contention entwining her. “Until we turned the house into a B&B, you had your room on the second floor. We redid the attic for the family after that, four years ago.”
Gertrude’s eyes narrowed at Judith. “So? Fifty years. That’s only counting after I married your father. It was his home from the day he was born.”
“I know.” Judith headed for the door. The Grover family had lived in the Edwardian saltbox since early in the twentieth century. Judith and her father before her had grown up in the big old house. So had Renie’s dad, Clifford Grover. But Cliff and his wife, Deborah, had struck out on their own. They had lived in a small fishing town at first, then briefly with the Grovers, and finally in a bungalow on the other side of Heraldsgate Hill. Judith gave one last look at Sweetums. The cat didn’t quite make up for the Grovers who had gone to dust. Especially after a hundred and eighty-seven dollars’ worth of vet bills.
“Good night, Mother,” said Judith.
“’Night,” Gertrude replied. “Don’t forget my eye doctor’s appointment tomorrow at eleven.”
“Right,” Judith answered in a weary voice.
“And my ice cream. Where’s my ice cream?”
Limply, Judith nodded. “I’ll get it. I’m leaving the door open.”
“What for?” Gertrude demanded. “You want more trouble? What if there’s a sex fiend loose?”
Judith smiled, if wanly. “Then I’ll bring two dishes of ice cream.”
Briefly, Gertrude seemed puzzled. Then she edged a bit closer to Sweetums on the sofa and gave a nod. “Swell. I’ll eat both of ’em. I won’t share ice cream with a sex fiend.”
Judith couldn’t fault her mother’s sentiments.
It dawned on Judith, as she went up to bed, that Rover had been mysteriously quiet. The Chatsworth party was still at dinner. It was not yet ten when Judith ascended the stairs, but there had been no sound from the ill-tempered dog since returning from Dr. Smith’s office. Feeling a pang of guilt, she stopped on the second floor and went into the front guest room.
Judith hadn’t replaced Grandma Grover’s braided rug. Rover lay on the bare floor. The dog was breathing somewhat shallowly, and his tongue was out. He seemed to have fallen in a haphazard manner, with his legs splayed every which way.
Recalling the odd light in Gertrude’s eyes, Judith returned to the living room. She hadn’t troubled to remove the serving dishes from the hors d’oeuvres hour. The tray was empty; so was the punch bowl. Judith checked the sterling silver receptacle on the hearth. Her mouth curved into a smile.
Rover was drunk. Gertrude had wrought her revenge.
Judith was still laughing when she entered the third-floor bedroom. Joe was already in bed, reading a Western, his genre of choice. He insisted on sticking to an era when lawmen weren’t hampered by the necessity of search warrants, the Miranda warning, or admissible evidence. Judith often tried to envision Joe wearing a sheriff’s star, a Western hat, and hand-tooled cowboy boots, with six-shooters blazing in the middle of Heraldsgate Avenue. It was not an entirely incredible scenario.
Explaining the reason for her mirth, Judith realized how stuffy the attic bedroom had grown. A large fan stirred the air, but only that which was in its direct path. She was about to take a quick shower when she remembered to ask Joe about the phone call he’d picked up on the kitchen extension.
Joe pushed his reading glasses farther up on his nose. “Some nut. Or else a Third World type who doesn’t realize that my Cambodian language skills are pretty rusty.”
The trying day and the oppressive heat had sapped Judith’s patience. She gave Joe an exasperated look. “Believe it or not, I do get foreign guests. And yes, their English isn’t always perfect. How’s your Japanese?”
Joe arched his red eyebrows above the glasses. “Rusty. Like my Cambodian.” He offered his wife a placating smile. “This wasn’t a reservation, Jude-girl. I asked. Honest. He didn’t even know he was calling a B&B. In fact, he seemed anxious to hang up when I told him he’d reached Hillside Manor. He started talking about ‘threats’ and ‘menace.’ I hear enough of that crap on the job.”
Judith frowned as Joe turned his attention back to his book. Wrong numbers happened all the time. The B&B’s number was one digit off from that of Toot Sweet, the neighborhood ice-cream-and-candy shop. The two establishments frequently got each other’s calls. It was an improvement over the misdials at the Thurlow Street number, where Judith and Dan frequently had been mistaken for the local mortuary.
But as Judith stood under the shower a few moments later, the cool water didn’t wash away all of her unease. She recalled Dagmar’s odd reaction to the earlier phone call. And the columnist’s evasiveness about threats.
Not that it mattered, Judith told herself, drying off with a big beige towel. Dagmar and Agnes and Freddy would be gone in the morning. So would the hung-over Rover. Their problems were of no concern to Judith. She slipped into a short cotton nightgown and returned to the bedroom.
It was still stuffy. Joe was still reading. And Judith was still uneasy.
Maybe it was the weather, she told herself.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t.
The Chatsworth entourage left Hillside Manor the following morning at ten-thirty. Judith waved them off with a huge sigh of relief. Legal threats apparently had been dropped by both parties. It was just as well; Judith couldn’t afford a lawyer. If Dagmar suspected that her precious dog had been driven to drink, she never let on. Indeed, Rover seemed healthy, if passive, when the hired limo pulled out of the drive and into the cul-de-sac.
The phone was ringing as Judith returned to the kitchen. Reni
e was on the line, sounding imperious.
“I won’t take no for an answer, coz. Madge can’t go to Bugler because it’ll be end-of-month at the insurance company. I’ve called three other old pals, and they’re either already going on vacation or stuck in town. If you don’t come with me, I’ll never speak to you again.”
The threat had been made on many occasions over a period of almost fifty years. It was never intended to be serious, and never taken as such. Still, Judith understood the urgency in Renie’s tone. She gazed at her booking calendar for the upcoming week: three sets of regulars, all for two nights each; a honeymoon couple who ought to be able to fend for themselves, and if they couldn’t, their marital prognosis was grim; the rest were newcomers slated for one-day occupancies. Judith began to weaken.
“I’d have to talk to Arlene Rankers,” she said, referring to her longtime neighbor and friend. Arlene had often leaped into the breach for Judith, taking over the duties of B&B hostess with graciousness and aplomb. She was also Judith’s partner in their catering business. “I’ve been meaning to sit down with Arlene and talk over the extra work, but I’ve been so busy this summer. Frankly, I’m not sure I can go on catering and running a B&B.”
“Let Arlene take over the catering part,” Renie said. “There are several SOTS who’d be glad to jump in and help her out.”
Judith knew Renie was right: At least a half-dozen fellow female members of Our Lady, Star of the Sea parish—or SOTS, as they were familiarly known—would be delighted to join forces in a cottage industry such as catering social functions on Heraldsgate Hill. Still, the business was lucrative, and Judith hated to lose her share.
“I really shouldn’t go,” she demurred, not quite willing to give in to Renie. “This is prime time for me.”
“You sound like bird-doo,” Renie said. “Are you taking your Benadryl?”
“Yes, but it makes me sleepy. Phyliss is upstairs, cleaning like a madwoman, but it’ll be a while before all that dog dander is gone.”
“Exactly,” said Renie. “So we leave Monday and we’re gone until Thursday. The house will be free of Rover and his loathsome stench, or whatever it is that bothers you. How’s Sweetums?”
“Stable,” Judith replied, somewhat vaguely. She was consulting her calendar, worrying about the guests who would pass through Hillside Manor in her absence. There were no discernible problems, nothing that Judith could foresee. Arlene was, by and large, very competent. And in truth, Judith felt tired. Normally she wouldn’t have caved in to fatigue until after Labor Day, when the summer rush was over. But the Chatsworth party had worn her out two weeks ahead of schedule.
“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “Two nights won’t ruin me. I’ll go. But I’ve got to check with Arlene first.”
There was a faint pause at the other end. “Great!” Renie cried, though her exuberance was somehow tempered. “But it’s three nights. That’s why I said we wouldn’t be back until Thursday. I misread the brochure.”
Judith hadn’t caught the slip. She made a face into the receiver, then sat down on the kitchen stool by the phone. “Oh. Well, I suppose that won’t matter much.”
“Great!” Renie’s enthusiasm was now sincere. “Bugler is a wonderful place, even if you don’t ski. Which neither of us does, so what’s the point of snow? Besides, it’s free. My treat, coz. Pack your bags. Monday morning, we’ll head north. Lunch in Port Royal at the Prince Albert Bay Cafe. Then on to Bugler. We’ll have a hell of a time!”
Renie was right. But she didn’t know how or why.
Neither did Judith.
THREE
THE COUSINS PLANNED to arrive in Bugler shortly before three, the appointed check-in time. Renie had cautioned that their wait at the border might take up to an hour, but Canadian Customs and Immigration sped them through in twenty minutes. They’d scheduled the three-hour drive from Heraldsgate Hill to Port Royal so that they would get to the Prince Albert Bay Cafe just before noon. Their early arrival assured them of a window table. In the restaurant’s air-conditioned comfort, they lunched on fresh prawns and crab while soaking up the expansive view of the sparkling bay.
For a time, they recalled their previous visit to Port Royal and their stay at the Hotel Clovia, two short blocks from the cafe. The vacation had been marred by the discovery of a body in the hotel elevator.
“Incredible,” Renie declared, devouring her crab legs.
“At least we figured out who committed the murder,” Judith replied, savoring her prawns.
“Huh?” Renie stared at Judith. “I meant the crab legs. This sauce defies description. It’s absolutely delicious, but it doesn’t detract from the crab’s flavor.”
“Oh.” Judith’s voice was faint. She should have realized that Renie would be more enthralled by food than by a mere murder. Renie’s appetite always amazed Judith, especially since her cousin never seemed to put on weight. But even Renie admitted to flagging a bit in the warm weather.
“When we can shake the kids, Bill and I eat out a lot during the summer,” Renie went on, lustily chomping on a sourdough roll. “I do okay when I’m air-conditioned, but at home I sort of fade.”
“Me, too,” Judith agreed absently. She was watching the hordes of swimmers and sunbathers who occupied the great sweep of beach along Prince Albert Bay. The vista had been very different almost three years earlier, when the cousins had visited Port Royal in November. Rain and fog had obscured the view, and daunted all but the most valiant joggers, strollers, and dog-walkers. Only the big freighters anchored out in the harbor seemed the same.
Still, the sights and sounds and smells of Port Royal were familiar to Judith. But back on the road, she was in new territory. The highway wound west and then north beyond the sprawling city. Within a few miles, Judith found herself in primitive country, with awe-inspiring glimpses of inlets that were carved out of heavily forested granite. The sun sparkled on the calm waters, and an occasional pleasure craft headed for a shady cove. With Renie at the wheel of the Joneses’ big blue Chevrolet, Judith sat back and began, finally, to unwind.
“Some ski addicts think that Bugler is the finest resort in North America,” Renie said after a long silence. “I’m anxious to see it now that it’s been expanded since we were last there.”
Judith roused herself from a semi-somnolent state. She had lulled herself into a near nap by recalling the assurances of Arlene Rankers. Arlene would make sure not only that Hillside Manor’s guests for the next three nights would have every comfort and convenience, but that Gertrude would be well taken care of. Judith’s mother would be the Rankerses’ dinner guest for at least one night, and Arlene’s husband, Carl, was looking forward to a rousing game of cribbage with Gertrude. In the meantime, Aunt Deb would be waited on hand and foot by Renie and Bill’s three children. Not that Deborah Grover would ever demand such attention—but God help the daughter and grandchildren who wouldn’t see that it was provided. Renie’s mother had raised martyrdom to the status of an Olympic medal event. As for Joe Flynn, Judith knew that her husband could fend for himself and not mind too much. He was used to it, having suffered domestic neglect from his first wife, who had spent much of their marriage in an alcoholic haze.
But Judith wasn’t leaving all her troubles behind her. She had vowed to use the time away from Hillside Manor to determine the future of her catering business. She had also promised herself to go over her books. The damages incurred by the Chatsworth party had forced a long-overdue look at debits and credits. Renie didn’t know it, but Judith had tucked her ledger and current bills into the side pocket of her suitcase.
“What?” Judith rallied from her stupor. “Bugler’s tops, huh?”
Renie glanced over at Judith and smiled wryly. “So they say. You’d never guess it from the lack of development along this stretch of the trip.”
Judith had to agree. The road was winding through forests of fir, pine, and hemlock, with no mountains in sight. Occasionally they noted fresh gashes from recent clear
-cutting. Now that they’d moved inland, the scenery was less spectacular, though still lovely in its primeval state. Yet Judith sensed a certain desolation, a wild, untamed region that had been left virtually untouched. She knew that British Columbia was vast, reaching almost a thousand miles to the Yukon. Mountains, rivers, and forests covered huge, uninhabited areas. It seemed to Judith that the narrow strip of densely populated land just north of the U.S. border stood as the last buffer between civilization and the wilderness. It didn’t seem possible that a tourist resort could exist so far from the amenities of the modern world. Judith wondered if Renie was on the right road.
Then they began to spot dwellings, private ski chalets, some on stilts, some A-frames, some with corrugated tin roofs. Among the trees they could glimpse the cool blue waters of a lake. A restaurant sat off the road, displaying a five-star rating. Oncoming traffic increased, apparently an indication that visitors who had checked out after noon were heading home. Judith sighted a Rolls-Royce, a Bentley, and a white stretch limo. She had stopped counting the Mercedes-Benzes and BMWs.
Clusters of ski condos emerged along the roadside. So did more restaurants and gas stations and various stores. And then, quite suddenly, they saw the great slopes of Bugler and Fiddler mountains, rising above the town. Snow still remained in the deepest crevasses, but what impressed Judith the most was the feeling that she had been whisked off to Europe and dropped down in the middle of a charming Alpine resort.
Nothing in Bugler had been built by chance. The town had been carefully conceived in an old-world mode with New World convenience. Private homes, condos, hotels, shops, restaurants, even the most mundane of services, possessed flair. As Renie consulted the directions to their condo check-in site, Judith’s head swerved every which way.
It was late August, off-season, yet there were skiers, sunburned and cheerful, hoisting their equipment after a day on the slopes. Judith realized that there must be snow somewhere on the mountains, other than in the nooks and crannies she could see with her naked eye. There were also golfers and hikers and tennis players and swimmers and skaters and horseback riders. The town was bustling with vacationers, and as the cousins got out of the car, they heard a multitude of foreign languages.