by Mary Daheim
Adela grimaced. “Not even close. By any chance, are you going back to the motel? I need a ride.”
“Serena’s trying on a few items,” Judith explained. “Our car’s parked near Wild Flour. If you can wait a few minutes, I’ll drive you to the motel.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Adela mumbled. “It’s been a bad day. And I thought we’d be on our way back to Ankeny by now. It’s a suburb of Des Moines.”
“You couldn’t have envisioned what would happen with Codger,” Judith pointed out. “It’s getting a bit warm here under the sun. Would you like to stop for a cool drink?”
Adela seemed to consider the idea but shook her head. “I’d rather go to the motel and get a martini from the bar.”
“We can take you there. I’ll let my cousin know.” She went back inside the store, spotting Renie at the sales counter.
“You abandoned me!” Renie snarled under her breath. “I was forced to spend four hundred and eighty U.S. bucks! If Bill asks, tell him I shoplifted everything.”
“It’d serve you right if he blew a gasket,” Judith shot back. “Pay for your loot and meet me outside. I’ve got Adela in tow. As long as you were buying up the place, I should’ve asked you to get a cardigan for Mother.”
Renie looked indignant. “They don’t do ugly items in this store. Try Saint Vincent de Paul.” With a lift of her short chin, she turned away.
When Judith rejoined Adela, the other woman seemed to have shrunk. Arms crossed as if comforting herself, she huddled in the corner between the store’s entrance and one of the two display windows.
“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Judith inquired. “Physically, I mean.”
Adela shook her head. “I’ll tell you after I get my hand around a martini. A double.”
“Fair enough,” Judith said. The two women stood in silence until Renie emerged, looking like a small, if unruly, Gypsy peddler. Trying on clothes had obviously wreaked havoc with whatever attempt she’d made to tame her wayward chestnut hair.
“Don’t say anything,” Renie growled. “Let’s just walk.” She spat out the last word, making it sound obscene.
Somehow, Adela ended up in between the cousins. The trio must have looked a bit grim, given the way some of the other pedestrians stared briefly and then looked away. Or maybe, Judith thought, they didn’t want to stare because Renie’s eyes were cross-eyed from securing the pile of packages by holding them together with her chin.
It took them five minutes to reach the SUV. Renie finally spoke to Adela. “You can sit up front with Judith. I need more space with my purchases. Oof!” She tumbled onto the floor behind the front seat and cussed a bit.
They drove in silence to the motel. It wasn’t until they reached the empty bar that Adela spoke. “Where’s the bartender?”
“We served ourselves the last time we were here,” Judith explained. “They may be short-staffed. I can mix you a martini. How do you like it?”
Adela seemed dubious. “You’re a freelance writer and a bartender? Isn’t that an odd combination?”
“I tended bar in the evenings at the restaurant my first husband owned,” Judith replied, avoiding any reference to being a freelance writer. “It was called The Meat & Mingle.” She also omitted the M&M’s foreclosure by the IRS. Dan McMonigle hadn’t been inclined to pay taxes. Having seen letters from the IRS addressed to him, Judith asked if something was wrong. Dan’s response had been to stuff all three warning notices in his mouth and swallow them.
“Writers meet interesting people in bars,” Judith said, handing over the martini. “Talking to strangers, especially after a few drinks have loosened their tongues, not only elicits information, but helps a writer in developing characters. So what upset you?”
Adela didn’t answer until she’d taken a big sip of her drink. “Not bad,” she murmured, and took another sip. “The twins took off. Not that I blame them, but they left the Buick behind. Where the hell can they have gone?” She gulped down more of the martini and her eyes glistened with tears.
“Did you go to the RCMP to report them missing?”
“Yes.” Adela pressed her thumb and forefinger on the bridge of her nose as if trying to will her worries away. “Teddy took Norm and me in the pickup, but he didn’t want to wait. That tall sergeant told us about finding the Buick. He insisted there was no sign of damage to it or of any . . . violence, but that’s cold comfort.”
“Where’s Norm now?” Judith asked.
“Still at the station. He’s waiting until an officer can take him to collect the Buick. I couldn’t stand sitting around there. Police stations seem so grim.”
“Not,” Renie broke in, “as grim as the toolshed Judith’s mother lives in.” Seeing her cousin’s annoyed expression, she shrugged. “Just testing my vocal cords to see if they still work. Carry on.”
“Serena knows my family quite well,” Judith said a bit stiffly. “We’ve worked together before. May I be candid?” The other woman nodded faintly. “Who was the murder victim?”
“What kind of a question is that?” Adela demanded, drawing back on her barstool.
“A very basic one,” Judith replied. “We’ve learned that the murdered man may not be Emory Alfred Stokes.”
Adela almost choked on her olive. “That’s absurd! Of course it was him. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“When was the last time you saw Codger?”
Adela had to stop and think. “I was eighteen when I left the farm and never went back. I’m forty-three now.” She winced. “Twenty-five years. But Norm and I got together with Corny and Delia a few times in Omaha. Why on earth would you think Codger wasn’t . . . Codger? And why would you care?”
“As journalists, my cousin and I have to be accurate, especially about names. We understand his first name is actually Emory.”
Adela looked horrified. “You’re going to write this up for your magazine?”
“At the very least,” Judith said, “our Cornucopia editor will want to publish an obit. Codger and the rest of the family must be fairly well known in the world of corn. I can’t afford to make mistakes. The family might sue us.”
Placing an elbow on the bar, Adela put a hand to her head. “We should never have come here.”
“Why did you?”
Adela drained her glass and sighed. “For Pa—my brother Cornelius—and Delia, I suppose.” She paused and turned suspicious. “Who told you Codger wasn’t Emory Alfred Stokes?”
Judith sat up straighter. “I’m afraid I can’t reveal my sources. It’d be unprofessional.”
“Rot.” Adela slid off her stool. “I’m going to go lie down in our room. I can’t stand spending any more time with the rest of the family. Even my brother and his wife seem to have turned weird. Corny and I used to have a few laughs when we were growing up. Suddenly he’s turned into a pickle—and a sour one at that.”
Judith nodded. “Murder will do that to a person.”
Adela didn’t comment.
Judith wondered why.
Chapter 13
Judith helped Renie carry her parcels up to the so-called suite and was surprised to find that although the beds had been made, the bathroom towels not only hadn’t been replaced, but were piled up in one of the double sinks. While Renie put her new items in the Joneses’ carryall, Judith dialed the number for housekeeping. After eight rings and no answer, she called the front desk. The male voice that answered didn’t sound like Niall.
“Sorry,” the young man said after Judith revealed their problem. “We’re a bit shorthanded today. I’ll see if I can find someone to send up to your suite.”
“Well?” Renie said after Judith disconnected. “Will they bring fresh towels? You know how fussy Bill is about his towels. He uses them as part of his neck therapy. Nubbiness counts, too. I’ll bet that checking them will be the first thing he does when they get back here tonight.”
Judith hadn’t gotten past “nubbiness.” “How does Bill judge such a thing?”
“He feels the towels,” Renie declared solemnly. “Bill knows what’s nubby and what’s not. It’s a gift.”
Judith sighed. “If you say so. I wonder what time they’ll get here? Maybe we shouldn’t make reservations, but rely on which of the restaurants in the Banff Springs Hotel can serve us.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Renie murmured. “What’s our next move . . . or do we have one?”
“We do,” Judith replied. “We haven’t really talked to Pa and Ma Stokes—Corny and Delia. And I’d like to find out if Ada can talk at all.”
“Hoo boy,” Renie responded. “Maybe I should go shopping again.”
“You can’t afford it,” Judith said sternly.
“I couldn’t afford it the first time,” Renie asserted. “I didn’t pay for anything. I charged it to my credit card.”
Judith shook her head. “You always do. Let’s go.”
They walked along the river, which seemed benign under the warm August sun. Briefly, Judith could almost imagine they were really on a vacation, free from all their routine cares, free from guests for her and deadlines for Renie, even free from murder.
But the first glimpse of the Stokes encampment crushed the illusion. The scene was made even more doleful by the lack of activity. Family members stood or sat almost motionless, as if posing for an unseen camera. Judith noticed that Codger’s tent was gone. A wooden barrel stood in its place. Beer, maybe, even moonshine brought from Big Stove. Nothing about the Stokes family would surprise her.
Pa and Ma Stokes were at the picnic table with Teddy and Martha Lou. A deck of cards and a cribbage board had been shunted aside. Teddy and Martha Lou stood to one side, vacant eyes looking off into the distance while they munched on popcorn out of a huge red-and-white-striped plastic bag. Ada sat on a stool by the big tent, her back turned to the rest of the family.
Renie leaned closer to Judith. “They don’t look like they’re in the mood for company.”
“Maybe we can cheer them up,” Judith said, though she sounded doubtful in her own ears.
Corny and Delia were the first to acknowledge the cousins. He raised a red, swollen hand in greeting and said, “How do,” in a cheerless voice. His wife merely nodded, her triple chins burrowing into her big bosom. Teddy turned to look at the visitors.
“You write your story yet?” he asked with a frown.
“No,” Judith replied. “I won’t do that until I’m back in the New York office. I always take time to reflect on my subjects.”
Martha Lou’s freckled face looked puzzled. “Reflect on what?”
“My approach to the article,” Judith replied. “It can get very complicated.”
Teddy was still frowning. “You gonna write about us?”
“Not by name,” Judith said. “I’ll want to describe the kind of people who come to Banff and where they’re from, especially foreigners from Europe and Asia.”
“Oh.” Teddy seemed to lose interest.
Martha Lou, however, persevered. “You won’t say anything about Codger, will you?”
“Probably not. I’m leaning toward the international angle. What attracts foreigners to this beautiful, rugged part of the world.”
“The movie,” Martha Lou said. “About the river. That’s why we came here.”
“So you mentioned,” Judith began, but stopped when Teddy yanked at his wife’s arm.
“Nobody’s bidness ’cept ours, Martha Lou,” he asserted, his face turning red. “Shut yer pie hole, okay?”
“Fine!” she snapped, jerking her arm out of Teddy’s grasp and stomping over to plop down on the barrel.
Pa Stokes had stood up. “Let’s all settle down. These ladies don’t mean us no harm. Maybe they’d like some of our cider.” He looked down at his wife. “Where’d you put that jug, Delia?”
“In the ice bucket next to your right foot,” she replied. “Try not to knock it over.”
“Never mind,” Judith said, smiling. “We had beverages at the motel. How long do you folks plan to stay on?”
Pa had sat down again. He shot Ma a sharp glance, but she merely shrugged. “Not sure. Cooler up here than in Big Stove this time of year. Guess it depends on . . . things.”
“I suppose,” Judith said, making her way to the picnic table, “you’ve heard from Doris and Jens back home?”
“They do all right,” Pa replied, taking a tobacco pouch and a sheaf of cigarette papers out of his shirt pocket.
Ma leaned forward, staring at Judith with snapping gray eyes. “Who told you about Doris and Jens?”
Judith realized her gaffe. “I’m not sure,” she hedged. “Maybe whoever mentioned Aunt Sheba taking care of the children.”
Teddy, who had parked himself on the end of the table, nodded. “Could be. I ferget.” He reached out to bat at a mosquito. “Hey, you seen the blonde from the motel today?”
Something about the question bothered Judith. “A blonde?” she echoed. “Someone who works there?”
“Maybe,” Teddy replied. “She was hangin’ out here the other day. Aunt Adela thought she was from the motel.” He suddenly turned his head in all directions. “Where is Aunt Adela? And Uncle Norm? He was gonna help me work on the camp stove. It’s busted.”
“Never did work worth a damn,” Pa muttered, taking a drag on his homemade cigarette. “Hell, nobody and nothin’ works worth a damn anymore. Raisin’ corn isn’t like it used to be. In the old days, it was back-breakin’ work, from sowin’ to harvesttime. Made a man feel like a man. Now I just sit around and read the commodities reports. Real work done by all this otto-motion.”
“Automation,” Ma snapped. “I read books, not just those so-called reports. You never try to improve your mind. Why I married you in the first . . .” Her voice trailed off and Judith thought she was about to cry.
Pa, however, remained stoic. He’d rolled a second cigarette and eased his lanky frame off the picnic table’s rough wooden seat. “I’ll give this one to Ada. She could do with a smoke.”
Judith reached out a hand. “I’ll take it to her. We haven’t met Ada. That’s an oversight on our part.”
Pa looked so startled that he let Judith take the cigarette. “Why d’ya wanna do that?” he asked, obviously puzzled.
“As journalists,” Judith replied, already moving around to the other side of the picnic table, “we have to touch base with everyone involved.”
Pa shrugged. “Fine. But she don’t talk much.”
“Neither do I,” Renie asserted, following her cousin. “But I can spell better than Judith does.”
“Brat,” Judith said under her breath as they approached Ada. “You know damned well you can speak up anytime you feel like it. You just did.”
Renie ignored her cousin. Judith saw Ada’s thin shoulders tense as they approached. As they came abreast of the young woman, she also noticed that her right hand was tightly clenched.
“Hi, Ada. I’m Judith and this is my cousin Renie. How are you today?”
Ada kept staring straight ahead.
“I see you’re keeping out of the direct sun here by the tent,” Judith said. “You have quite a nice tan, though. Do you like being outdoors in the fresh air?”
Nothing. Judith took a deep breath. “Are you sad about Codger’s passing?”
Still nothing. Judith proffered the handmade cigarette. “Your father rolled this for you.”
Only a flicker of Ada’s eyes indicated she understood as she held out the hand that wasn’t clenched. Judith noticed that it was almost unlined, as if the palm had rarely been put to use.
“Do you need a light?” Judith asked.
Ada kept staring somewhere between the cousins. Maybe she was deaf. In desperation, Judith looked at Renie.
“Hey,” Renie finally said after a pause, “how about those Huskers? Think they’ll go undefeated this season?”
Ada’s head moved in an almost imperceptible negative response. Judith stared, wondering if she could hear, but not speak. “Not with Bi
ll Callahan coaching, right?”
A single emphatic nod answered that question. Judith grabbed Renie’s arm and pulled her aside. “What was that all about?”
“Football,” Renie said. “Bill’s been studying his college-football-magazine predictions. What else do Nebraskans care about so strongly except the Cornhuskers? Aunt Ellen and Uncle Win inherited their tickets from his parents. That’s one of the few ways fans can get them. Even someone a little . . . slow, like Ada, knows about the Huskers.”
Judith shook her head. “Football.” She glanced at Ada, who still hadn’t budged. “Okay, goofy sports expert, what if Ada isn’t as dim as she seems?”
Renie stared up at the sky. “Then maybe she should be the next Nebraska coach.”
Judith gave up.
Chapter 14
But Judith wasn’t giving in. She still had some unanswered questions. But as soon as they returned to their motel, her cell went off. “Now what?” she muttered, sitting down in an armchair.
“Hey, how’s my Jude-Girl?” Joe said in an oddly unctuous voice. “Keeping out of trouble, I hope?”
“Of course,” Judith answered, more sharply than she intended. “What time will you and Bill be back?” She glanced at Renie, who shot her a questioning look.
“Well . . .” Joe’s chuckle seemed forced. “We didn’t have much luck fishing until this morning. Something to do with the river in the middle of August, but now that we’re getting to the end of the month, things are looking up.”
“Up where?”
“Here. On the river. This part of the river, twenty-six miles from Banff.” Joe was now talking much faster than his usual soft, mellow drawl. “We’d be fools not to stick around for another day or two. As Bill pointed out, it’d be like throwing our money away.”
Judith gritted her teeth, but when she spoke, her voice sounded almost natural. “Of course Renie and I’ll be sorry not to see you two sooner, but if you have such a wonderful opportunity to catch a really big mess of fish, you can’t pass it up.”
Renie gestured with her fingers, as if pointing a gun to her head. Judith suddenly realized that maybe it was just as well the husbands weren’t coming back so soon. Their return might put a whammy on the sleuthing.