A Case of Bier

by Mary Daheim

  “That’s possible,” Judith said, “but I doubt it. I considered that Codger might have been suffering from an incurable illness, but why not say so? Even if the old guy didn’t know, why would the family keep it a secret?”

  “I don’t think the Stokes folks could keep a secret,” Renie responded. “I assume Mrs. Codger has already gone to that big corncrib in the sky.”

  “Probably.” Judith nibbled at her salad greens. “I wonder how much money people make raising corn.”

  “It depends on how big a farm they have,” Renie said. “Aunt Ellen once told me that many of those Nebraska farmers are millionaires.”

  Judith was surprised. “She did? I never heard that.”

  “You’re not her goddaughter. Ha-ha.”

  “True.” Judith paused to study their bill. “We never got our money changed. I suppose the banks are closed. Drat. We’ll have to wait until Monday.”

  Upon paying their bill, the cousins drove back to the motel. “We should check the bulletin board in the lobby,” Judith said. “I’ll bet St. Mary’s has a Saturday Mass. Since we’re eating a late dinner, we might as well go this evening. Then you can sleep in tomorrow.”

  Renie gave her cousin a sideways look. “You think I haven’t done that when I’m actually in church?”

  “Yes,” Judith said primly. “I’ve been there. At least you don’t snore.”

  “You talk in your sleep.”

  “So Joe tells me. He doesn’t mind.”

  “You’ve only been married for fifteen years. Wait until you’re together as long as Bill and I have been.”

  Judith turned into the motel’s driveway. “How long has it been now? I forget.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t do numbers. I’m a visual person. And I see a cop cruiser by the motel. I’ll bet it’s for you.”

  “No!” Judith protested. “It’s probably checking on the Odells. Maybe the parents have some more information about the Stokes family.”

  But she was wrong. Sergeant Brewster got out of the cruiser and motioned for Judith to pull over. Complying, she rolled down the window and asked what he wanted.

  “Please get out of the vehicle and come with me,” he said, his long, tanned face expressionless. “You can answer questions in the cruiser or at headquarters.”

  “About what?” Judith blurted.

  Brewster’s black eyes snapped. “About the victim.”

  “I never met him when he was alive,” Judith protested.

  “Maybe not. But you may be the last one to see him dead.”

  Judith couldn’t argue the point.

  Chapter 8

  The cousins got out of the rental, but Brewster pointed to Renie. “Please remain in your car, ma’am. I want to speak to your friend in private.”

  “I’m her attorney,” Renie declared. “Serena Jones of Jones, Jones and Berfle. I must insist on being present. Or do you want me to call the U.S. consulate in Calgary?”

  Still expressionless, Brewster motioned with his hand. “Come along, then, eh?”

  They drove in silence, except for an occasional crackling voice coming over the cruiser’s radio. Judith and Renie didn’t look at each other, but stared out of their respective windows. Brewster pulled into a driveway behind the RCMP building. Obviously, they were going to enter through the rear.

  “Perps’ entrance,” Renie whispered as Brewster got out to open the rear door. “I forget. Have we ever been busted before?”

  Judith didn’t answer. When they were inside, he led them to what appeared to be an interrogation room and told them to sit down in the two chairs that faced a table and a third chair. Then he left and closed the door with a clicking sound.

  “We’re locked in,” Renie said. “Do you think they serve food? Or at least a beverage?”

  Judith looked exasperated and pointed to the near wall. “Why don’t you ask? There’s a camera in here.”

  “Oh.” Renie smiled and waved. “Hi. My client is innocent.”

  Brewster returned before Judith could threaten to strangle Renie. After he sat down, he spoke in a formal voice, announcing his name, the time and day of the interview, and then asking the cousins to identify themselves. Judith went first, then tensed for fear that Renie would say something outrageous. But she didn’t, only adding that she and Mrs. Flynn were cousins. Brewster directed his first question to Judith, asking if she had seen the body of the victim, Emory Alfred Stokes.

  “I did,” she replied with a lift of her chin.

  “Why did you do such a thing?” Brewster asked, still without expression.

  “Because I wasn’t sure it was true. That is,” she went on, “the Stokes family seem a bit . . . eccentric. I wasn’t sure I could take them seriously.”

  “You’ve known the family for some time, eh?”

  “No. We only arrived in Banff early Friday afternoon. Later on my cousin and I went for a walk and met the Strokes family for the first time. Did you know about their plan to send Mr. Stokes down the Bow River?”

  For the first time, Brewster’s face showed a reaction, though whether it was surprise or dismay, Judith couldn’t tell. “There was some mention of a bier,” he replied. “Constable MacRae and I didn’t take it seriously.”

  “You should,” Judith declared. “Did you talk to Mr. Stokes’s daughter, Mrs. Odell?”

  Brewster took umbrage. “I’m asking the questions here, Mrs. Flynn.” Apparently, he saw that Judith was very grave and decided to make amends. “Yes, we did, but she wasn’t very forthcoming.”

  “Then talk to her again,” Judith said. “I doubt that she approved of their plan for the body disposal. Have you found the weapon?”

  The query made the Mountie scowl. “Why do you ask?”

  Judith shrugged. “It seems like an obvious question.”

  He sat back in his chair and fretted his upper lip with his index finger. “Who are you, Mrs. Flynn?”

  “I own a B&B,” Judith replied. “My husband, Joe Flynn, is a retired police homicide detective. He and Mrs. Jones’s husband are on a fishing trip. Naturally, I took an interest in his job over the years.” She hoped that Renie was keeping a straight face.

  “I see.” He shifted in his chair. “If I check with your city’s law enforcement personnel, will they confirm that?”

  “Of course,” Judith said. “In fact, my husband’s former partner, Woodrow Price, is now a precinct captain. It’s Saturday, so he’s probably home. If you want to call Woody, I can give you his unlisted phone number.”

  Brewster nodded rather absently. “I believe you,” he said, but turned to Renie. “Is your law practice also in the city?”

  Renie shook her head. “I don’t need to practice. I got too good at it after the first few years, so I went pro.”

  “Coz!” Judith shrieked. “Stop that!” She turned back to Brewster. “She’s putting you on, Sergeant. She’s really a graphic designer.”

  “I see.” Brewster again looked stoic. “At least I think I do. Dare I ask what your husband does for a living?”

  “He’s a psychologist,” Renie replied.

  Brewster stared at her briefly and then nodded. “Yes. Your husband has the right job.”

  “What,” Renie demanded after Brewster had dropped them off by the motel, “did he mean by that crack?”

  “You know what he meant,” Judith said. “I don’t know why you came up with the lawyer bit in the first place. You never tell lies.”

  “Because you do it all the time,” Renie asserted, “and for once I wanted to beat you to it.”

  “I never lie,” Judith declared. “I only tell small fibs for a good cause. At least the rest of the interview went well. I think we gave a fairly accurate picture of the Stokes family. I wonder if they really sent Codger down the river on that bier.”

  Renie grimaced. “If they did, I hope Bill and Joe don’t reel him in instead of a trout.”

  Traffic was even heavier than usual with every kind of conveyance from g
iant motor homes to bicycles. The late-afternoon sun cast a golden glow on the town, making it sparkle as if beckoning the tourists to come inside the shops and restaurants. In stark contrast, the rugged granite peaks rose up as if shielding the inhabitants from all the bustle of their visitors. The disparity between brash commercialism and raw nature struck Judith as a metaphor for the human condition. Amid so much beauty, there was also menace. Codger’s murder struck her as tragic proof of Man’s betrayal of Nature’s bounty.

  “Hey,” Renie said, breaking into her cousin’s musings, “it’s ten to five. We’d better get to church. It’s on Squirrel Street, so do you suppose the pastor is Father Rodent?”

  “Dubious,” Judith said vaguely after they got into the Lexus SUV. “I wonder where they crossed the border.”

  “The squirrels? They sneak in. Though I once heard that a gang of our gray squirrels stowed away on a ship headed for the U.K. After landing, they drove all the English native red squirrels out of—”

  “Stop,” Judith interrupted. “I mean the Stokeses.”

  Renie grew serious. “We don’t know what part of Nebraska they came from. Maybe they drove to Montana or entered via Manitoba. What difference does it make?”

  “Probably none. But it’d be quite a drive with a dying man if they came from eastern Nebraska.” Judith paused. “Brewster never told us if they found the weapon.”

  “You’re right,” Renie agreed. “You didn’t see it in the tent?”

  “I’d have told you if I had. No one else mentioned it either. That is odd.” She paused. “Ah! We’re almost to St. Mary’s.”

  Both cousins immediately recognized the little granite stone church they’d attended half a century earlier as youthful teenagers. It had been almost new back in the 1950s. The pews were already filling up. Judith scanned the worshippers, but didn’t see anyone she recognized.

  “No suspects here,” she whispered before dipping her fingers into the holy water font and crossing herself.

  “No squirrels either,” Renie whispered back.

  The liturgy was reverent but efficient; the homily mercifully brief. Obviously, Judith thought, the priest realized that his attendees were as anxious to continue their vacations as the merchants were eager for their money. She’d noticed at least two locals from their various stops in town.

  “Disappointing, huh?” Renie gibed as they came outside. “No suspects on hand. You should’ve nailed the priest to see if he’d heard a homicidal confession today.”

  “You know he wouldn’t tell me if he had,” Judith said. “When do you want to have dinner? We’ll probably need reservations.”

  “Why not the Banff Springs Hotel?” Renie suggested. “Then we’ll be able to say that at least we’ve been there.”

  “Good idea. Why don’t you call them on your cell?”

  Renie was on the phone for so long that they’d reached the motel before she finally clicked off. Judith asked if she’d been put on hold.

  “No,” Renie replied, rubbing her ear. “They’ve got so many bars and restaurants and cafés that I can only remember one of them—the 1888 Chop House. Somehow, it seems appropriate for this trip. I was able to key in a nine o’clock reservation. That’s all they had left.”

  Exiting the SUV, they could hear music. “Where’s that coming from? It sounds like a hymn,” Judith said.

  “They’ve got other churches in town,” Renie responded, “though I haven’t noticed any nearby. It also sounds like they’ve got awful voices. Is that a banjo I hear?”

  “Yes. I think it’s coming from the Stokes folks,” Judith said. “Maybe they’re doing some kind of informal memorial service for Codger.”

  “No. No,” Renie repeated calmly. “We’re not going to join them. Never. Not in my lifetime. I refuse . . .”

  But Judith was already headed for the encampment. Renie expelled a big sigh and joined her. They were halfway to their destination along the river when the singing stopped.

  “Show’s over,” Renie stated. “Can we go back now? My feet hurt.”

  “Stop whining,” Judith said. “Somebody’s coming in this direction. Two somebodies.”

  “So?”

  The sun was starting its descent over the Rockies. Judith shielded her eyes. “It’s Teddy and Martha Lou.”

  “Hey,” Teddy called out. “You seen those snooty twins lately?”

  Judith waited to answer until they came closer. “Not for a couple of hours. They were going into the motel.”

  Martha Lou’s freckled face was flushed. “Brats.” She spat out the word. “Too good for the rest of us. They wouldn’t stick around for tellin’ ’bout our memories of poor ol’ Codger.”

  “I understand how you feel,” Judith said kindly, “but I don’t think they ever met him.”

  “Ha!” Teddy exclaimed, blue eyes snapping. “Those two gold-diggin’ creeps got their claws into Codger from way back. Wouldn’t surprise me if they stabbed the poor old duffer.”

  Martha Lou’s auburn curls bounced as she nodded her head. “You betcha! I took a mislikin’ to them straight off.” Her green eyes swerved as if she feared being overheard by other family members. “The cops told all of us they need Codger’s body ’cause they had to do a . . . like an operation on him. Why? I mean he’s dead. What’s the point?”

  “An autopsy?” Judith suggested.

  Teddy and Martha Lou looked at each other. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s the word. But it won’t bring him back to life, will it?”

  “No,” Judith responded. “But it’s probably a rule here when the death is suspicious.”

  “Of what?” Teddy demanded. “He got stabbed by some weirdo. Those cops should spend their time lookin’ for that guy instead of buggin’ us.”

  Martha Lou nodded vigorously. “This whole thing’s been too weird. Me an’ Teddy here are kinda fed up with this mess. We’re goin’ to find us a tavern and kick back.” She put her hand on his arm. “Let’s be gone, okay?”

  Teddy held his head and groaned. “Might as well. They’re singin’ another danged hymn. Sounds like a catfight to me. I’m so hungry I could eat a snake.” He nodded to the cousins before the couple toddled away, hand in hand.

  Judith raised her eyebrows. “A breach in the family unit?”

  “They may sound dumb, but they might be savvy,” Renie said. “Are you sure you want to join the hymn fest?”

  “It’s cheap entertainment,” Judith replied. “Besides, what else have we got to do?”

  “My feet still hurt,” Renie said. “Oh well.”

  “What did you think about the twins apparently making nice with Codger?”

  “They sent him valentines? How would I know?”

  “That’s probably what they did,” Judith asserted. “Christmas and Easter cards, letters letting him know about their school grades, what they were doing for fun, pictures, whatever.”

  “Sucking up,” Renie murmured. “It all fits.”

  The last words of “The Old Rugged Cross” squawked to a merciful finish. The mourners moved apart, leaving only Ada sitting in a camp chair and staring off into space.

  Pa gestured at the cousins. “You two see Teddy and Martha Lou go off just now?”

  Judith nodded. “They were going to get dinner in town.” She saw Pa’s thick eyebrows come together in a frown and changed the subject. “I’m curious. How big is your farm?”

  “Just a little over fifteen hundred acres,” he replied, looking suspicious. “Why are you asking about our farm?”

  Judith barely heard the last of his words. “Fifteen hundred acres? Isn’t that . . . big?”

  “Depends.” Pa’s expression softened slightly. “The more land you got, the more corn you can plant.”

  “We understand that,” Renie said dryly. “Is it all planted with corn and soybeans?”

  Pa nodded. “’Cept for the cows. They need pastureland. Milk cows, that is. Always good to have somethin’ to tide you over in the winter. ’Course Codger
pre-sold the corn most years.”

  Judith was still a bit dazed by the whole operation. “How many people work the farm?”

  “Just me an’ Teddy. ’Course I’m kinda buggered up by the arthritis. But with all this modern stuff, you don’t need extry hands.” Pa glanced at the rest of the family. “Dang. Teddy and Martha Lou shoulda stayed put. We gotta sing another hymn. Martha Lou’s got a mighty fine singin’ voice. We need her to lead.” He trudged away to join the others.

  Judith turned to Renie. “Let’s go back to the bar.”

  “You want to get hammered? Are you serious?”

  “We could go to our so-called suite, for all I care,” Judith shot back, “but I want to call Aunt Ellen. They should still be up. It’s only a little after eight in Beatrice.”

  “Oh, for . . . Fine. My feet still hurt. Maybe I should buy new shoes while I’m here. And sweaters.”

  They ended up in the Flynns’ half of the suite. Aunt Ellen answered on the third ring. “Oh, Judith, great to hear your voice, but hold on. I’ve got jam cooking on the stove and I’m making a fall wreath out of wood shavings for the front door. Or maybe I’ll send it to your mother. She’ll love it! Or would she rather have the one I just finished that’s made from old movie film strips?”

  Judith made a face. “Ask her what she’d like.” None of the above, she mouthed to Renie, who was leaning over her cousin’s shoulder to hear their aunt.

  “I will,” Aunt Ellen said briskly. “You’re not calling to tell me somebody died, are you?”

  “No,” Judith assured her, since she wasn’t about to prolong the call by mentioning the latest murder victim. “We’re in Banff on vacation with the Joneses. We met some farm people from Big Stove who raise corn. I’m curious. One of them mentioned . . .”

  Aunt Ellen was laughing. “You’re always curious, Judith! Sometimes you get into trouble. Do be careful. Tell my goddaughter to watch you like a hawk. Hold on, the jam’s about to boil over. Win! Let out the dog! He’s going to piddle on my clean kitchen floor.”

  Judith and Renie exchanged beleaguered looks. They heard Uncle Win open the door and speak to Varmint, a mixed breed who’d been abandoned near the Cornhusker stadium. The door closed. Maybe Uncle Win had gone outside, too. The cousins always wondered if his wife’s nonstop activities didn’t wear him out. Maybe it was just as well that he was the laid-back type by nature. Otherwise, Judith and Renie figured, Win might have been laid out long ago.