by Mary Daheim
Judith felt helpless. No matter how depleted or upset Trixie might have been, she’d never leave the premises in her hospital gown. “Thanks for your help,” she said in a tight voice. “I appreciate your cooperation.”
Back outside, Renie asked why they seemed to be heading toward the nearby police station.
Judith paused in mid-step. “So I am,” she said in a faintly surprised tone. “Oh, why not? We’re almost there.”
“Good,” Renie responded. “Maybe I’ll ask a few questions, like why the Mounties seem more attractive than our police.”
“It’s the uniforms, even the regulation brown ones,” Judith said. “Are you forgetting that Joe was once a cop walking a beat?”
“That was before you met him. By then he was a detective wearing street clothes.”
“Whatever,” Judith murmured as they entered the precinct station.
Sergeant Brewster was on duty. His face revealed no surprise at seeing the cousins as he wished them a good day. “If you’re here to see Inspector Colbert, he returned to Calgary last night.”
Judith was only faintly disappointed. “I’m sure you’ve been brought up to speed on the investigation.”
“Yes,” Brewster replied. “I’m fully briefed. I’ve been told the Odell twins’ whereabouts have been discovered. But if you have anything to add, let me know, eh?” The suggestion seemed forced.
“Nothing about them,” Judith replied, “but Trixie O’Hara has disappeared from the hospital.”
Brewster frowned. “Who?”
“The young woman who works at the motel,” Judith explained. “She’s from Nebraska and there may be a connection between her and the Stokes family. She’s been an emotional wreck since she found out Codger was killed.”
Brewster seemed skeptical. “Did she suggest she knew these other Nebraskans?”
“Cornhuskers,” Renie said. “It’s not just the name of the University of Nebraska’s football team.”
“Sorry,” Brewster said coolly. “I follow the other kind of football and not the Canadian version of your game. I’m keen on soccer. It’s a much more intellectual sport, eh?”
Renie leaned an elbow on the counter. “What’s intellectual about a bunch of scrawny guys running around in ill-made shorts and tacky shirts kicking a funny-looking ball all over the place? Bor-ing!”
Judith gritted her teeth. “Let’s not get distracted. Trixie is the reason we’re here.” She turned back to Brewster. “Trixie O’Hara apparently came to Banff to marry someone. She never mentioned his name, but when she heard of Codger’s death, she fainted. She’s been an emotional wreck ever since and was hospitalized yesterday. I wonder if . . .” She paused as she wondered if her imagination had taken her for a ride. “Never mind.”
“Oh, for . . .” Renie stopped and looked at Brewster, who was suddenly staring at his computer screen. “You know my cousin’s reputation for coloring outside the lines when it comes to homicide investigations. If she thinks Trixie is involved in this one, hear her out.”
A hint of amusement glinted in the Mountie’s eyes as he looked at Renie. “Niall from the Banff Springs Motel has called in to report Ms. O’Hara as missing.”
Judith felt relieved. “Good. I mean . . . I didn’t want you to think I was an alarmist.”
Brewster shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that. I do, however, have some new information from the lab in Calgary where we sent blood samples from the homicide scene. The results came less than an hour ago.”
“And?” Judith said encouragingly.
“They’re not what you’d expect,” he said with an expression that seemed either bemused or amused. Judith couldn’t tell.
“Yes?” she prodded.
“The blood wasn’t from the victim.” He paused as if for effect.
“You mean,” Judith said, “it might be from whoever stabbed him?”
Brewster shook his head. “It’s not human blood. It came from a squirrel.”
Renie had let out a shriek. “I knew it! They’re the enemy, the evil ones, the plague of humankind!”
Brewster regarded her with concern. “Is she all right?” he asked Judith as Renie staggered around the area by the front desk.
“Yes,” Judith assured him. “Or she will be. My cousin and her husband had an unfortunate incident with a squirrel family several years ago. They moved into the Joneses’ attic and multiplied. They partied all night. It took some time to find someone to remove them and it was very expensive.” To her relief, Judith saw that Renie was regaining her self-control.
“Sorry,” she finally said. “The little horrors still plague us. They dig up planters and flowers and small shrubs and someday they’ll come with axes and start on the trees . . . Never mind. I’m better now.”
“Good,” Judith said, then turned back to Brewster. “What do you make of the . . . animal’s blood?” She thought it best not to say “squirrel” lest it set Renie off again.
Brewster grimaced. “Without the corpse and the clothing, it’s difficult to say. Mr. Stokes could have been stabbed and someone had cleaned up the blood. But why anyone would replace it with the blood of a squirrel is . . . baffling.”
Renie had calmed down. “At least there’s one less squirrel to plague me.”
Judith turned back to Brewster. “Then Codger could’ve died from natural causes? He was supposed to be at death’s door when they brought him here.”
Brewster nodded absently. “The family’s account of why they came here when the old man was so ill sounded rather strange. But people do get peculiar ideas, especially if they think they’re dying, eh?”
“True,” Judith conceded. “But we’re assuming he was dying.”
Brewster’s phone rang. He turned away to take the call. Apparently, it was a minor highway accident involving an irate local and a combative tourist. When he rang off, Judith remarked that he must be glad when summer ended and the townspeople again had the place to themselves.
“No, no,” he insisted. “Banff relies on visitors. Winter brings the skiers and other snow-sports enthusiasts. The Canadian Pacific Railway started all this with its trains and hotels. The CPR remains, of course, though the hotels are now owned privately. This town is geared to pleasing tourists.”
“It’s beautiful here,” Judith said. “My cousin and I visited when we were kids. We loved it then, too. By the way, how long can you keep the Stokes family here?”
Brewster turned dour. “We can’t without any evidence. We don’t even have a corpse. But it would be in their best interest to stay, eh?”
“Probably.” Judith had a sudden thought. “Did you check the Odells’ trunk when the car was brought in?”
“Check it?” Brewster looked puzzled. “We went over it, yes. Why do you ask?”
“Oh dear!” Judith was dismayed. “Didn’t anyone tell you? I mean, any of the Stokeses . . . I was sure they’d . . . You know that Codger was moved from the tent and taken to the woods by the highway. But when the Odells’ car was found, there was a blue blanket in the trunk. What happened to it?”
“There was no blanket in the trunk or anywhere else,” he asserted. “Why do you think there was?”
Judith felt foolish. “Well . . . after we told you we found Codger by the road with the blue blanket and then his body disappeared again, I . . . um . . . figured the blanket must’ve . . . ah . . .”
“My cousin sneaked into the impound lot and broke into the damned car,” Renie declared. “The blanket was there then. She’s a whiz at picking locks. Go ahead, bust us.”
Briefly, Brewster looked flabbergasted, but quickly recovered. “I see. Someone must have removed it. But who and why?”
“You’re the detective,” Renie said. “Work it out. Even coz here seems stumped.”
“I am,” Judith admitted. “We can eliminate the twins. They were on the run by then. But something’s been bothering me. Why did Inspector Colbert come down here on a Sunday?”
The sergeant’
s face showed no emotion. “You live in a far more populous country than we do. Thus you have a considerably higher homicide rate than we do. Calgary averages one murder a year. When someone is murdered in Alberta, especially a foreigner, the provincial government takes it very seriously.”
Judith was aghast. “I had no idea. I mean, I realize the huge difference in population, but still . . . Of course the inspector would show up. I apologize for the question.”
“I accept your apology,” Brewster said solemnly. “At least you two Yanks know how to find Canada on a map.”
“That,” Renie put in, “is only because our husbands were doing the driving.”
Brewster actually chuckled. “I don’t think so. The inspector told me you both had been to British Columbia twice in the past fifteen years.”
“Yes, we have,” Judith said. “We live less than a hundred miles from the border.”
The sergeant nodded. “Colbert also informed me that each time you’d been in B.C., a murder occurred. That struck him as . . . curious.”
“Oh, for . . .” Renie rolled her eyes. “Did Colbert also tell you that Judith helped solve both cases?”
“He did,” Brewster replied, turning back to Judith. “If he hadn’t known you had a reputation as FASTO, he would’ve at least reprimanded me for keeping you informed about the situation here.”
“I don’t flaunt it,” Judith said in her most assertive voice. “I wish those so-called fans had never created the Internet site in the first place. If I ever find out who did it, I may sue them for invasion of privacy.”
Renie laughed. “You have no privacy. We ended up in newspapers and once on TV. Face it, coz, you’re a public figure.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She turned to Brewster. “Are we done here?”
“I believe so.” He smiled faintly. “The RCMP is grateful for your contribution.”
“Thanks,” Judith said. “Frankly, I’ve hit a wall on this case. Maybe I should turn in my FASTO card.”
The cousins left the building. Back in the SUV, Judith got out her cell. “I’ve got to call Arlene and find out about the sick guest.”
“Maybe,” Renie said, “he got snippy with her and she poisoned him at breakfast.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time that happened,” Judith reminded her cousin. “But I wasn’t the one who . . . Arlene? How’s the man who collapsed?”
“Judith? What man? Have you been drinking?”
“No, I have not,” Judith declared. “I’m asking about the guest who had to be treated by the medics.”
“Oh, that guest!” Arlene laughed. “Such a character! He’s a clown.”
“You mean he was just goofing off?”
“No, I mean he works for the circus,” Arlene said, switching to a serious tone. “Actually retired, but he teaches other people how to be clowns and do pratfalls. So realistic! I almost called 911. He shows them all the tricks of the trade along with how to dress and do their makeup. You should see the face he put on Carl. It scared poor Charles when he delivered the mail this morning.”
“You mean Chad?”
“You may mean Chad, but I don’t. You know I told you that name doesn’t fit him.”
Judith suppressed a sigh. “Right, right. Were the medics upset about the unnecessary call?”
“Unnecessary?” Arlene sounded puzzled. “Of course not. They treated Charles after he fell off the porch, but it’s only a sprain. He should be back on the route by the middle of next week.”
Judith realized she was grinding her teeth, but she had to ask: “How’s everything else going?”
“Like clockwork,” Arlene replied. “After all, Carl and I have filled in for you several times over the years. We’re not novices.”
“I know,” Judith said, trying to calm her nerves. “No cancellations for the next few nights?”
“Full up. Stop fussing, Judith. Do relax and enjoy yourself.”
“I’ll try. Tell Mother I send my love and thanks for staying on.” Judith rang off.
Renie was slumped in the passenger seat. “Don’t tell me. I reserve the right not to know.”
“Just as well,” Judith muttered. “It was vintage Arlene.”
“So what do we do next? I’m bored.”
Judith took her time to answer. “It’s obvious now that Codger wasn’t stabbed to death, but someone wanted to make it look like that’s how he died. Why?”
“To set somebody up as a killer?”
“That’s possible.” Judith started the car. “Was Codger really dying? Was he even sick?”
“A cover-up,” Renie said. “Maybe he was poisoned.”
Judith glanced at her cousin before pulling out into traffic. “That’s a possibility. There’s a good reason they didn’t want his body found. I wonder if whoever it is really did put him on that bier and send him down the river.”
“Teddy Stokes told us this morning that they did,” Renie reminded her cousin. “Did you believe him?”
“I honestly don’t know.” She paused. “Somehow, I can’t see Adela and Norman being a part of that stunt.”
“They weren’t,” Renie said. “The Stokes crew did it at night while the Odells were asleep back at the motel. Besides, the campground is an open area. Anybody can wander around there. We did.”
“True.” Judith had turned back in the direction of the motel. “Now that I think about it, why are the Stokeses the only ones camping there? It’s August, prime time for campers.”
Renie’s expression was wry. “Would you want to hang out with that crew on your vacation?”
“No.” Judith looked pained as she stopped for a couple of bicyclists to pedal across Wolf Street. “But that’s what we seem to be doing, isn’t it?”
Renie merely shook her head.
Chapter 19
Five minutes later the cousins were back in the motel parking lot. As Judith removed the ignition key, her cell rang. “Now what?” she muttered, then recognized the number. “Mother. What now?”
“Who sent in the clown?” Gertrude demanded in her raspy voice.
“You mean . . . ? I’m in Banff, Mother. Arlene can explain that. Ask her.”
“I don’t like pestering Arlene,” the old lady retorted. “She’s got her hands full taking care of the loony guests you let stay here. Besides, when she and Carl have any free time, we play three-handed pinochle. That’s no time for talking. You have to pay attention to your cards. Only your Aunt Deb likes to gab her head off when we play bridge.”
Judith shot Renie a beleaguered glance. “So what about the clown?”
“He came out the back door this morning while I was trying to coax Sweetums inside,” Gertrude explained. “There was a flock of those little chickadees in the pear tree and I was afraid he’d go after them. Then I looked up to see this creepy clown coming for me! It’s a wonder I didn’t have a stroke!”
“Uh . . . what did you do then?” Judith asked.
“I shooed the cat inside and told the clown I was calling the cops. Then I hustled my poor old fanny inside and slammed the door.”
“Did you actually call the police?”
“No. You know how they are. They take forever to show up. But you’d better start running your guests through the . . . whatever you call it. The system?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Some system! But you ought to know. You married one of those dumb clucks.”
“I think the guest actually is a—”
“Never mind,” Gertrude interrupted. “Here comes Arlene with a pie. I wonder what kind. You never bring me a whole pie.” Judith heard the phone disconnect.
Renie started to open the car door. “Don’t bother filling me in. I got the gist. Aunt Gert hates clowns but loves pies.”
“You’re right. Okay, you take on Teddy and Martha Lou. I’ll handle Ma and Pa. I’ll also try to talk to Ada, but that may be a lost cause.”
“Sad,” Renie murmured after they got out of the SUV. “I wonder if she
gets any joy out of life.”
“Ada knows about college football.” Judith swiped at a mosquito. “Maybe she enjoys watching it. I wonder if I should call Doris again in Big Stove. Why would she say they were headed to California? Did they change their minds after they left or . . .” She stopped as someone called her name.
Niall was running to catch up with the cousins. “Mrs. Flynn! Mrs. Jones! Stop! Please.”
Judith turned around. “What’s wrong?”
“Jenny’s filling in for Trixie,” he said, pausing to regain his breath. “She went to make up your suites and they’ve been trashed. Should we call the police?”
Judith looked at Renie, who nodded. “Yes. Mrs. Jones and I don’t have any valuables, but it’s an invasion of privacy. I assume you’d do that under any circumstances.”
“Oh yes,” Niall replied, “but sometimes guests don’t want anyone going through their belongings. It doesn’t happen often, but some people are . . . strange, eh?”
“I understand,” Judith said. “I own a B&B.”
Niall’s smile was off-kilter. “Then you understand, eh?”
“Ha!” Renie cried. “You wouldn’t believe all the weirdos my cousin gets. And not just run-of-the-mill nutcases, but actual psycho—”
“Psychologists like my cousin’s husband, Bill,” Judith hurriedly put in. “We’ve had two or three psychology conventions in the city since I opened Hillside Manor.”
“That’s . . . good for business,” Niall said. “Conventions, I mean. Are you coming back to the motel now?”
Judith was torn. Except for their clothes and toiletries, she couldn’t imagine anything that a thief would want. Renie, however, felt differently.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I want to make sure nobody stole my cosmetics. I pay a hundred and fifty bucks for my La Mer facial cream. If somebody swiped that, I’ll reconsider my stand on the death penalty.”
“Coz!” Judith cried. “A hundred and fifty . . . surely you don’t spend that much!” She saw Renie’s somber expression. “You do?”
“You bet. If you won’t go to the motel, I’ll go alone.”
“I’ll come along. If it’s still there, I want to see what an outrageously overpriced ounce of face goo looks like. I assume it comes in a solid-gold jar.”