A Case of Bier

by Mary Daheim

  “Right . . .” Niall paused. “But I can’t leave the desk until my shift is over. I’m stuck until I get off at midnight.”

  “We could do it,” Judith volunteered. “If you trust us with the key, of course.”

  Niall looked dubious. “I trust you, but I really shouldn’t. It might get me in trouble if Mr. Barnes found out.”

  Judith was about to say they’d be very discreet, but Renie had put one elbow on the desk and her gaze was fixed on Niall. “Here’s how it comes down, you dear, conscientious, polite Canadian young man. You can stick to the rules, but even if you do, Mrs. Flynn will pick the lock and get inside that room. Trust me. By the way, she’s in tight with the Mounties.”

  Niall gaped at Renie. “But . . . she’s not from around here. I don’t get it.”

  “Call them,” Renie said, no longer leaning on the desk. “Ask for Inspector Colbert.”

  Niall sighed. “Okay, let me get the key. It’s room . . .”

  “Two-oh-nine,” Renie interrupted.

  Niall blanched. “How do you know that?”

  “Because,” Renie replied, “it’s the only mailbox—or whatever you call those things on the wall—that doesn’t have a guest name on it. I, too, can sleuth. Sort of.”

  Niall handed over the key. “Down the hall on your left,” he murmured.

  “Thanks,” Judith said with a smile. “We won’t take long.”

  Niall didn’t respond.

  Neither of the cousins spoke until they were inside the room and had turned on the lights. It was obvious that Trixie’s housekeeping talents were lacking not only when it came to the guests but also when it came to herself. Clothes, makeup, magazines, CDs, and even food remnants were scattered around the room. A stuffed tiger’s head peeked out from under a pillow on the unmade bed.

  “Poor Trixie,” Judith said under her breath. “Do you see her purse?”

  “No,” Renie replied. “I’ll check the bathroom.” A moment later, she reappeared with a hefty imitation leather shoulder bag. “If you’re expecting a scary message in lipstick on the mirror over the sink, forget it. That only happens in movies.” She handed the bag to Judith. “You do the honors. If this purse is as messed up as the room, I’m not touching anything in it. There might be snakes.”

  Judith undid the flimsy clasp. “No snakes,” she said, looking inside, “but there may be an animal.”

  Renie made a face. “What kind? Not my nemesis, the common gray squirrel, I hope.”

  “No.” But Judith felt something very soft and faintly furry. “It’s a wig. Blond.” She held it up for Renie to see. “Rather a nice wig, actually. The curls look natural.”

  “Trixie is a blonde,” Renie noted. “Not that shade or style, but still . . .”

  “A disguise?” Judith suggested. “But why?”

  “Don’t ask me. By the way, no sign of drugs in the bathroom, legal or otherwise.”

  “Check the drawers in here while I go through her purse. I’ve got her wallet. More of a billfold, really. No pictures, just a few credit cards and her medical coverage information. Ah! Here’s her driver’s license.” Judith stared, then blinked. “It’s a Nebraska license. Trixie’s from Lincoln. This was issued two years ago. She’s twenty-two.”

  “Their licenses look a lot like ours,” Renie noted. “I don’t have to be Hercule Poirot to think Trixie knew the Stokes folks before she came to Banff.”

  “They may be why she came here,” Judith said before scrutinizing the rest of the contents of the wallet and purse. “Maybe she met them in Big Stove, Nebraska.”

  “Possible,” Renie allowed as she opened and closed drawers. “Nothing of interest. In fact, nothing at all. I’ll check the closet.” She opened the sliding door to reveal a space only a third the size of the ones in each of the Flynn and Jones suites. “Not much. Jeans, tights, tops, cardigan sweater, and one white dress for, I presume, a hot date.”

  Judith was still holding the purse. “Maybe we should take this to Trixie tonight. She may need her ID and her Blue Shield card. I assume she’ll be released tomorrow morning unless there’s something seriously wrong with her.”

  “Other than being attacked?” Renie said with a droll expression. “You don’t really want to go to the hospital, do you? It’s after visiting hours.”

  Judith’s face was bland. “We’ll drop the purse off at the hospital’s front desk.”

  “We’d better drop off the room key with Niall on the way out.”

  “You do that while I head for the car. I’ll pick you up out front,” Judith said. “Tell Niall you need to clear your head. I’d rather he didn’t know we left the premises.”

  “You don’t trust him?” Renie asked in surprise.

  Judith shrugged. “You know I never trust anybody.” She picked up her own purse and removed her wallet. “Put this in that satchel of yours. I’m leaving mine here.”

  “Dare I ask why?”

  “One purse is enough.”

  Renie didn’t ask for an explanation. Sometimes it was better not to know when her cousin was on the trail of a killer.

  The earlier evening traffic had dwindled to a few cars all bearing Alberta plates, a couple of delivery trucks, and a California minivan that had a lived-in look.

  “Aging hippies,” Judith remarked. “I’ll bet they’ve got Janis Joplin on tape and a lot of weed in the compartments.”

  “No doubt,” Renie agreed as they glimpsed the hospital just ahead. “There’s a parking place just twenty yards away.”

  Three minutes later, they were in the hospital and approaching the front desk, where a gray-haired woman was doing a crossword puzzle. Her name tag identified her as Edith Smythe. She looked up with a bored expression. “Yes?”

  Judith assumed her most confidential manner. “We were here earlier to see Medic Roberts about a patient who’d just been admitted—Trixie O’Hara. My cousin and I were with her when she collapsed. In the excitement, I ended up with her purse and she must have mine. Perhaps you have it here at your desk? My last name is Flynn.”

  “No personal items of any kind have been found,” Edith replied. “You should contact our lost and found. They open at nine tomorrow.”

  Judith assumed an air of distress. “Could we wait while you go get it from Medic Roberts’s office?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t leave my position here,” Edith said stiffly. “If you give me your home address, we can post it to you.”

  Judith grimaced. “We’re leaving on a six-week tour of Albania. The post office will be holding our mail.” She turned to Renie. “You remember what happened to Uncle Alfred’s ashes when the post office had to keep them while Aunt Opal was coming home from her safari.”

  Renie looked appropriately horrified. “Oh yes! And her grandson Archie insisted he thought the silver case contained marijuana. That’s why poor Uncle Alfred was always referred to as Old Smoky from then on.”

  Judith now wore a mournful expression. “I still can’t think of Uncle Alfred without getting upset.” She wobbled a bit against the desk. “I need to use the restroom. Is there one close by?”

  Edith’s stone face seemed to twitch. Or maybe the wobble had caused Judith to wince. But the receptionist finally responded. “The washroom is around the corner and on your right.”

  When they were out of sight, Renie laughed. “That was one of your more inventive lies. I loved it.”

  “Thanks,” Judith responded. “I should’ve come up with better names than Alfred and Opal.”

  “That’s okay, coz,” Renie assured her. “Edith wouldn’t have appreciated anything more exotic. But how do we get from the restrooms to the patient rooms? I don’t see a door or a stairway.”

  “True. But I spy an intercom. You have a deeper voice than I do and you only spoke once at the desk. How about summoning Edith Smythe to the delivery area?”

  Renie shook her head. “She won’t fall for that at this time of night.”

  “Yes, she will. The woma
n’s an automaton. She’ll follow orders. Make it an emergency delivery.”

  “Okay. I, too, can follow orders. I can move faster than you can, so start walking.” Renie picked up the intercom, waited for Judith to get to the end of the hall, then lowered her voice to a rasp and announced, “Edith Smythe, please collect an emergency item at the delivery entrance.”

  Renie saw Edith suddenly appear and then disappear. Hurrying to meet Judith, she asked where the receptionist had gone. Judith said she’d taken an elevator going down.

  “We’ll take an elevator going up,” Judith said. “The patient floors are on the second floor. I think Canadians refer to the first floor as the ground floor. Or is that the English way?”

  Renie shrugged as the car’s doors opened immediately. The cousins kept quiet on the brief ride. Only after they exited did Renie ask how Judith was going to explain their presence.

  “I may not have to,” she said in a low voice. “I can only see one nurse at a desk up ahead and she’s at her computer. The first two rooms are empty. With any luck, we may find Trixie before anybody finds us.”

  The next two rooms were occupied by men; the third was vacant and an elderly woman was asleep in the fourth. But in the next room on the left, Judith recognized Trixie’s tousled blond hair. She was stirring restlessly under a gray hospital blanket.

  “She’s still alive,” Renie whispered. “Count yourself lucky. Not all of your suspects over the years were.”

  “I’m not sure Trixie’s a suspect,” Judith said under her breath as they tiptoed into the room. “Trixie?” she called softly. “Trixie?” she repeated a little louder when the young woman fretted at the blanket. “It’s me, Mrs. Flynn, with Mrs. Jones.”

  Trixie gave a start and turned to look at her visitors. “Who?”

  “Judith Flynn and Serena Jones from the motel,” she replied, keeping her voice down for fear of alerting the on-duty nurse. “I’ve brought your purse.”

  “My . . . purse?” Trixie’s bleary eyes widened. “Oh!”

  Judith set the purse down on the bed. “How do you feel?”

  Trixie didn’t answer the question, but gingerly touched the purse as if to make sure it was real. “Thank you,” she said in a toneless voice.

  “Have you seen a doctor?” Judith asked after moving a visitor chair next to the bed and sitting down.

  “I think so. She told me her name, but I forget. Jane, maybe. She was really nice.” Trixie fumbled with the purse, but finally managed to open it and remove her wallet. “My money . . . I hope it’s still . . . yes!” With trembling fingers, she began to count the bills. Three of them fluttered to the floor, where Renie stooped to pick them up.

  “Here,” she said, holding the bills so that Judith could see they were each a hundred dollars in U.S. currency.

  Judith hid her surprise. “Do you know when you’ll be released?”

  Trixie shook her head as she tossed the bills into her purse without so much as a glance. “They took some tests. Maybe they’ll tell me tomorrow. But it’s nice here. I don’t mind.”

  “Do you have any family or friends in the area?” Judith asked.

  “No.” Trixie frowned. “Well . . . maybe, in a way. But they’ve been sort of tied up since I got here. Except for . . .” She gritted her teeth. “Anyways, I thought I should get a job while I was waiting.”

  Judith tried to think of a tactful way to ask why Trixie was carrying around so much cash. Renie, however, was more inclined to disdain tact in general. Unabashed, she spoke up. “How come you’ve got all those hundred-dollar bills? You could survive for quite a while in Banff without taking on a job.”

  The blunt query didn’t seem to faze Trixie. “I didn’t have the money until after I got here.” She rubbed at her temples with agitated fingers. “I’m really tired. It’s late, isn’t it? I want to go to sleep. Thanks for bringing my purse. That was nice of you.” She dug deeper under the coverings and closed her eyes.

  Renie started for the door, but Judith picked up the purse and put it into the nightstand’s drawer. Judging from Trixie’s deep breathing, she was already asleep. The cousins made their exit.

  When they reached the foyer, Edith Smythe was back at her post. She frowned at them, but Judith wished her a polite good night on the way to the main entrance. The receptionist nodded faintly. Apparently, the intercom-summons ruse had worked.

  There were still pedestrians on the sidewalk, so neither cousin spoke until they were in the SUV. “How,” Renie asked as she buckled up, “did Trixie get all that American cash after she got here?”

  “From Americans,” Judith replied. “Somebody in the Stokes family paid her off.”

  “The Odells?” Renie suggested. “They’re staying at the motel. But would they carry that much cash with them? She’s from Nebraska and they’re from Iowa. Adela and Norm are the type who use traveler’s checks or credit cards.”

  “You’re right,” Judith agreed, braking at an arterial on Lynx Street. “Speaking of the Odells, I wonder if they got their car back.”

  “I wonder if they got their kids back,” Renie said in an unusually worried tone. “They may be old enough to drink in Canada, but Win and Winnie are still kids. I remember what our three were like back then and still shudder at some of the dumb stunts they pulled.”

  Judith smiled wryly. “Yes. After Dan died, I had my own problems raising Mike alone, especially in his teens. By the time Joe and I finally got back together, Mike was virtually a grown-up.”

  “You did fine,” Renie said, seeing the motel sign up ahead. “Are they still planning to come from Maine after the tourist season is over?”

  “We hope so.” Judith slowed to turn off the street and pull around into the parking lot out back. “He and the family like Maine. Quoddy Head State Park reminds them of home. No real mountains, of course, but . . .” She stopped. “There’s the Odells’ car. They must’ve abandoned the rest of Adela’s family.”

  “Good thinking,” Renie asserted. “I wonder why they came in the first place. Could Adela be more different from the rest of them?”

  Judith had pulled into the only parking space left, some four vehicles down from the Odell sedan. She didn’t speak again until they were out of the SUV. “Adela’s been away from the farm for over half her life. She went to college and married a man who doesn’t strike me as a farmer. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say Norman is a salesman. The Buick is fairly new. Maybe he sells cars.”

  Renie laughed. “You do read people. What’s Adela’s job?”

  Judith used her key to open the motel door. “She manages the car company. I think she’d like to manage her weird relatives, but that’s a lost cause.”

  To the cousins’ mild surprise, Adela and Norman were about to enter the elevator that was opening its doors. “You’re out late, too,” Judith said with a friendly smile as they got in with the Odells.

  “Yes,” Adela replied in a weary voice. “We finally heard from our twins. At least we know they’re safe.”

  “Damned fools,” Norman muttered. “They should never have taken off in that car. Couldn’t they see the tank was almost empty? We’d only driven it once since we got here and I wasn’t going to get gouged for the Canadian imperial gallon price until we were ready to head back home and could fill up on the other side of the border.”

  The elevator had stopped and the foursome got out. But Judith had an obvious question for the Odells. “Where were Win and Winnie going?”

  Adela threw back her head. “Home!” she cried.

  Norman put a hand on his wife’s arm. “Hey, Del, don’t wake up the paying customers. It’s almost midnight.”

  Adela leaned against him. “Sorry. I’m just so upset. I need a drink.” She made an effort to compose herself and looked at the cousins. “Do you want to join us? You look like you’ve put in a long day, too. We’ve got a jug of Canadian Club in the room.”

  Judith hesitated, but Renie spoke up. “Why not? We haven’t any
thing better to do since we got dumped by the two frat boys we picked up earlier.”

  “Coz!” Judith shrieked, then lowered her voice. “She’s kidding. Really.”

  “Darn,” Adela said. “I was hoping it was true so you could dish the dirt. It might’ve taken my mind off of all the negative stuff we’ve put up with since we got here. Come on, let’s hit the sauce.”

  The Odells’ suite was two doors down from the Flynn and Jones accommodations. Unlike the cousins’ suites, it didn’t have that lived-in look. Maybe, Judith thought, it was because the couple had been forced to spend so much time with their Stokes relations.

  “Sit wherever,” Adela said with a vague gesture. “Tell Norm what to do with the CC.”

  Judith and Renie both asked for an inch over ice. With regret, Norman informed them there was no ice. The cousins graciously settled for tap water.

  Adela looked at her husband as if waiting for a cue. He shrugged and took a sip from his glass. “I guess,” she said, “that’s my signal to unload. Oh, we’ve kept in touch by letters and even some phone calls, at least with my brother, Corny, and his wife, Delia. They have a computer, but only use it for business despite my pleas to send me e-mails. I’m afraid they’re a bit rigid about not using high tech on a personal level.” She paused to gulp down some of her drink.

  Norman snorted. “They sure as hell take advantage of every high-tech method when it comes to raising their damned corn. These days they don’t even need hired hands. No wonder they’re rolling in money.”

  “They rarely spend it,” Adela put in. “Except for Codger being generous with our kids, Norm and I never got a dime out of him. I paid my own way through the University of Iowa by working in the school’s cafeteria.”

  Feeling tired after the long day, Judith was nursing her drink. “Did you two meet on campus?”

  Norm shook his head. “I went to Drake. We met on a blind date my brother arranged. He was going with Del’s roommate. We got married a couple of years after we both graduated.”