A Case of Bier

by Mary Daheim

  “Sheesh,” Renie uttered after he’d gone away. “I didn’t know tea was a science. Or is it an art?”

  “Take your choice,” Judith said. “Maybe both. After all, tea is a Brit thing . . .” She paused and nodded to her left.

  The Odells were coming their way. Adela looked anxious; Norman seemed glum.

  “We saw you come in,” Adela said, dispensing with any sort of greeting. “You’re somehow tight with the cops, right? We saw their cruiser outside of the motel when we left to go here. Niall told us they’d come on your behalf. What was that all about?”

  “Sit. Please,” Judith said, indicating two empty chairs. She waited until the Odells had pulled themselves up to the table for four. “Somebody broke into our rooms.”

  “No!” Adela looked shocked. Norman remained glum. “Was anything stolen?”

  “No,” Renie replied, before Judith could answer. “Not even my La Mer.”

  “Your what?” Adela asked, puzzled.

  “My facial cream. It works wonders. Would you believe I’m ninety-two?”

  “Not really.” Adela’s tone was indifferent. “Do you know if any other rooms were invaded?”

  Judith shook her head. “Niall told us nobody else had reported a problem. Why did you ask about the police?”

  Norman leaned forward. “Why do you think? We didn’t want to come here for the stupid bier stunt, but we did it because Codger had been so generous to our kids. Hell, we made them save most of it for college. But they caught the Peace Corps bug. Better to get an education first and then find out what goes on in the rest of the world.”

  “The Peace Corps would be an education in itself,” Judith pointed out. “They could go to college later. Do the twins know what kind of careers they want?”

  “Hell, no,” Norman replied. “They didn’t even know where Canada was until we told them we were going there and showed them on a map. They got excited when they found out they could drink beer up here, though.”

  “They’re still kids,” Adela said, “which is why we were so upset when they ran off. I’ll admit, they thought the idea of sending Codger down the Bow was gruesome. Norm and I felt the same way, but as it turned out, they put the poor old guy on it while we were at the motel and we missed it.”

  “Just as well,” Norman said, patting his wife’s shoulder. “Talk about a damned silly thing to do. What’s wrong with a cemetery?”

  The cousins took the comment as rhetorical. After all, Judith and Renie had buried Dan McMonigle’s ashes on the site of the family cabins.

  “How old was Codger?” Judith asked.

  Adela and Norman exchanged bemused glances. “Who knows?” she said. “I always thought he was born old.”

  Norman nodded. “Farmed all his life from the time he was a boy. That was hard back then, not like it is with modern methods.” He sat up straight as the server delivered the cousins’ orders.

  “Codger must’ve been middle-aged when you and Cornelius were born,” Judith said. “Had he waited a long time to get married?”

  Adela looked thoughtful. “My father . . .” She stopped, smiling wryly. “I almost never call him that. He preferred ‘Codger.’ Anyway, he married fairly young the first time. She was a local girl, Marcella, but Codger never talked about her. I didn’t know she existed until I was thirteen. It was Halloween and along with some other kids from the town we decided to go to the cemetery and scare ourselves. I saw her tombstone, which said ‘Marcella Jane Draper Stokes, beloved wife and companion.’ She was only twenty-two. No children listed. I wanted to ask Codger about her, but I didn’t have the nerve.”

  Judith nodded sympathetically. “Did you see any of the other family graves?”

  “Yes,” Adela replied. “There was an older brother who died not long after Codger was born. When he—my father—turned twenty-one, he legally changed his name to his late brother’s. To honor him, you see.” She smiled wistfully. “I thought that was rather sweet of him, if out of character.”

  “He was still young then,” Judith remarked after swallowing a bite of smoked salmon. That, she thought, might explain why the name hadn’t appeared in Aunt Ellen’s search. Maybe Codger had never bothered to follow through on the change. “What was Codger’s original name?”

  “I don’t know.” Adela grimaced. “I never asked him.”

  Judith nodded. “But he remarried, obviously. Was your mother also a local?”

  “No,” Adela replied. “She was from Lincoln. He met her at the state fair. Mother was a librarian at the university. She’d gotten her degree there. Athena Pappas was a first-generation Greek. She was beautiful, but delicate. The climate in Nebraska never suited her. Mother died when I was six, but she made me promise to get a college degree. So I did.” Adela had related the last sentences without looking at the cousins. Instead, she stared through the window as if she were seeing not the Rockies but Mount Olympus.

  “Life on the farm must’ve been hard on her,” Judith said. “You were cheated of a mother’s love.”

  Adela met Judith’s gaze. “I was. That’s why I never went back to Big Stove.”

  Norman chuckled. “The place makes me curious, though. If we could go in disguise, I’d like to see it.”

  “Not a chance,” Adela declared with a gentle punch to her husband’s upper arm. “I can’t wait to get home to Ankeny. Our kids should be there tomorrow. We’d leave now, but . . .” She lowered her head. “Somehow, I can’t.”

  Judith was sympathetic. “I understand. Family ties are hard to break.”

  Adela stood up. “No, they’re not. I did it over twenty years ago. But I believe in justice. If the rest of them think they can leave, that’s wrong.” She turned to Norman, who was also on his feet. “It’s against the law to do what they did with my father. I may never have loved him the way a daughter should, but I respected him.” She put her arm through Norm’s and they walked away.

  Judith turned to Renie. “What do you think now?”

  “This quiche is amazing. Even the fruit cup is good. You’re way behind with eating.”

  “Seriously,” Judith said. “Adela’s on a mission. I wonder if she knows something we don’t.”

  “She probably does,” Renie agreed. “She knows what it’s like to live in Nebraska and Iowa. We don’t.”

  Judith took a sip of tea before responding. “Get serious. She may have avoided being with the rest of the Stokeses, but she’s kept in touch. She’s suspicious of someone or something. I’d bet on it.”

  “Try the white-chocolate éclair. It’s a religious experience.”

  “Okay,” Judith said. “You wanted a break from sleuthing. I couldn’t expect the Odells would stop by. Now I’ll shut up and eat.”

  Renie nodded approval. She couldn’t do anything else since her mouth was stuffed with strawberry swirl cheesecake.

  No mention of the Stokes folks was made until the cousins were pulling up in back of the motel. Renie asked if Judith planned to check the status of things at the campground.

  “I’m not sure what to do,” she replied, shutting off the ignition. “I wish I knew what Adela is planning to do.”

  “Make threats of some kind?” Renie suggested.

  “Maybe. But what kind?” Judith paused. “She may know what really happened to Codger.”

  “You mean before he died or afterward?”

  “Either one—or both.” Judith started to open the car door but held off as a big black Ford pickup pulled in next to them. “That thing’s so wide I’m not sure I can get out on this side next to the blue BMW. My phony hip can’t manage the well between the front seats.”

  “Pull out and re-park,” Renie said. “There’s room over here.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” Judith muttered, retrieving her car keys. “My brain must be dulled from eating so much rich . . . Now what? I think the guy from the pickup is standing right behind the SUV.”

  “So? Back over him.”

  Judith kept
her eyes on the rearview mirror, started the engine, and honked. He didn’t move. All she could see was a blue checked shirt, tan pants, and a broad midsection. She honked again. He stayed put.

  “Let me deal with him,” Renie said, opening the passenger door.

  “No!” Judith cried. “He may be dangerous.”

  “So am I when I get riled.” Renie stepped out of the SUV.

  Judith rolled down the window to hear the exchange and watched Renie approach the man, but the nearby traffic drowned out the sound. She caught only a couple of her cousin’s words and almost none of what sounded like a low growl in response. But Renie’s reaction made her cringe.

  “Are you out of your freaking mind?” she shouted. “Why would we trash our own rooms? You’re lucky we don’t sue you! Now move your big badass truck before I call Sergeant Brewster!”

  For a few tense moments, the man didn’t change his position or speak. Then he turned away, presumably to walk around the back of the pickup. Renie stomped back to the SUV and leaned in the passenger side. “It’s the motel owner, Mr. Barnes. I didn’t recognize him at first. When I asked him to move the truck, he accused us of damaging motel property in our suites. He’s a real jerk.”

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “Moving the blasted pickup, I hope.”

  Renie had barely gotten out the words when the truck’s engine turned on, reversed, and shot out of the parking space.

  Judith opened the driver’s-side door and stepped out of the SUV. “What on earth did you really say to him?” she asked, fearing the worst.

  “You don’t want to know,” Renie retorted. “Oh, to hell with it. I asked him what had happened to Trixie. That’s when he stomped off. Now I suppose you figure he kidnapped her from the hospital.”

  Judith’s dark eyes widened. “Maybe he did. But why?”

  Renie shrugged. “She discovered he was cooking the books? But he owns the four motels. He must be making piles of money with a year-round tourist operation.”

  “Probably,” Judith murmured. “But I think Canadians pay even higher taxes than we do. If he really has Trixie stashed away somewhere, that doesn’t explain how her purse ended up back in the motel room.”

  They had gone inside to the elevator. “Why are we here?” Renie asked as they ascended to the second floor.

  “I want to make a phone call. I’d also like to see if our rooms have been put back in order,” Judith said as they started down the hall.

  Both the Flynn and the Jones accommodations had been restored to their usual pristine state. “Jenny’s done her job,” Renie announced as she came through the adjoining door.

  Judith looked up from her cell phone. “Good. I’m calling Doris.”

  Renie looked puzzled. “Doris?”

  “The relative or whatever she is in Big Stove.” Judith tapped in the number. After ten rings there was no answer. “No voice mail. Darn. Not surprising, though.” She looked at her watch. “It’s after four here. If I remember what Aunt Ellen once told me, they’re on Central, not Mountain Time. But some of the western part is.”

  “Is what?” Renie asked. “On Mountain Time? In Nebraska? Get real.”

  “Skip it,” Judith shot back. “I’m thinking about working people and when they get home. I don’t know which time zone Big Stove is in and if they’re on Daylight Saving Time.”

  Renie leaned against the armoire. “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose not,” Judith admitted. “But does the RCMP know who the victim is?”

  “You mean without the corpse?” Renie stood up straight. “Of course not. They can’t even find the body. Maybe the Mounties always get their man only when he’s still alive.”

  “I doubt the CIA could figure out this one,” Judith said glumly. “I may have to give up my amateur sleuth status.”

  Renie grinned. “And relinquish being called FATSO?”

  “Stop. You know that perverted version of the nickname drives me nuts.” Judith stood up. “Let’s check in with the current suspects.”

  “Why not?” Renie murmured, grabbing her big handbag. “What is a vacation anyway?” The comment was ignored.

  When they got out of the elevator, Judith headed not for the rear door but for the lobby. Behind the front desk, Niall and Jenny were talking in low tones. They both looked wary when the cousins approached. Niall asked if he could help them.

  “I want to thank Jenny for straightening our suites,” Judith said, smiling. “Mrs. Jones and I are very grateful.”

  “Not a problem,” Jenny said. “It’s part of the job.”

  Renie leaned her elbows on the counter. Judith could tell she had shifted into the corporate mode usually reserved for her graphic design business. “How come?” she asked. “Does it happen fairly often?”

  “No!” an aghast Jenny exclaimed. “It’s usually the guests who make a big mess. Some people are pigs.”

  “True enough,” Renie agreed, removing her elbows. “Speaking of pigs, what’s with your Mr. Barnes? He gave us a bad time in the parking lot just before we came in a little while ago. He’d parked so close to our space that Mrs. Flynn couldn’t open the door on her side.”

  Niall and Jenny exchanged uneasy glances. “The owner’s got a lot on his mind,” Niall said. “Running four motels keeps him busy. But he’s basically a decent boss.”

  “If you say so,” Renie responded. “You might remind him to treat his guests decently, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” Niall said. “Really. It’s just that he . . .” The young man winced. Judith wondered if Jenny had kicked him in the shin. “Well . . . with summer running down, Mr. Barnes gets anxious about any kind of lull before the winter sports bring in visitors.”

  “Okay.” Renie literally backed off. “Your turn,” she said to Judith, who was smiling at the duo behind the desk.

  “I was wondering if you’d heard anything about Trixie since she left the hospital,” Judith said. “We went to her room here, but no luck.”

  Both employees shook their heads. “Maybe,” Niall suggested, “she went with her boyfriend.”

  “Oh?” Judith sounded ingenuous. “Is he someone from around here?”

  Again, the pair exchanged quick looks. “Not exactly,” Jenny finally replied. “Or so we gathered.”

  “Trixie never mentioned him by name?” Judith asked.

  “Not to me,” Jenny said. Niall shook his head again.

  “Curious,” Judith said lightly. “Forgive me asking so many questions. I own a B&B, which means I’m usually the one on the receiving end. I guess I can’t help turning the tables when I go on vacation.”

  “Not a problem,” Jenny said again. “Have a nice evening.”

  The cousins exited through the front door, then turned onto the path that led to the river, where the mosquitoes were out in force.

  “We should arm ourselves with bug repellent,” Renie grumbled. “Why don’t they sell it at the motel desk?”

  “Why didn’t we buy some when we were downtown?” Judith retorted.

  “Because we were too busy playing detectives?”

  “That must be it.” Judith peered off into the distance. “I see the VW bus. The Stokes gang must still be here. I wonder if Brewster was able to stop them heading over the border.”

  “Maybe Calgary can apply pressure,” Renie suggested, batting at more mosquitoes. “Didn’t Colbert find out something that pertained to the Stokes family?”

  “Something he didn’t share with us,” Judith said with a touch of umbrage. “I hope he shared it with Brewster and the RCMP here in Banff.”

  “I spy some Stokeses.” Renie gestured with her thumb. “I also spy an RCMP patrol car pulling up by the VW bus. This could be fun.”

  Judith picked up the pace but frowned. “I wonder . . . should we keep our distance?”

  “Do you mean, as in hide?”

  “Sort of.” Judith paused. “We’ll detour around the evergreen shrubs and come up behind the cruiser.”<
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  When the cousins reached the other side of the greenery, they were on a stone path that apparently led to the river. Several other people were using the route for a late-afternoon stroll. Two young women pushed strollers that were so high tech they looked like spacecraft. Three teenagers zoomed past on skateboards, narrowly missing the startled cousins. A dark-skinned woman in a sari restrained a frisky pug that was trying to chase a butterfly.

  “Odd,” Judith remarked, “that we forget that people live here year-round. Banff has such an otherworldly feeling that it’s hard to remember the town has five thousand permanent residents.”

  Renie agreed. “That’s what makes it special to visitors. There’s magic all around here in the mountain air.”

  “And murder,” Judith murmured just as the VW bus came into view on their right.

  They moved stealthily to the rear of the empty cruiser, which was parked abreast of the bus. Their view of the campsite was narrow, but they could see the picnic table. Ma and Pa were in their usual places. The only others they could make out were Brewster and Teddy Stokes.

  “I wonder if they found Ada,” Judith whispered.

  “I wonder why you’re whispering,” Renie said in her normal voice. “We can’t hear them, so they can’t hear us.”

  “You’re right,” Judith replied. “But we don’t dare move any closer. Why are we here?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Renie shot back. “It was your idea.”

  “Not a good one.” She tried to figure out how they could get closer without being seen but failed. “We might as well . . .” She stopped. “Did you hear a cat?”

  Renie listened, but shook her head. “I only hear the river. And a private plane going overhead.”

  “It must’ve taken off from . . .” She stopped. “I heard the cat sound again. It’s got to be close by or the plane’s noise would’ve drowned it out. Let’s be quiet and listen.”

  Renie started to object but decided to humor her cousin. After a minute or more had passed, both Judith and Renie heard a mewing sound.