Gone With the Win: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery (24 page)

Swede got to his feet. “You do that. Next time the grub’s on me. And tell your uncle to get his butt down here PDQ.” He leaned across the desk to shake hands with the cousins. “Take it easy,” he said. “And stay out of trouble. Odds are that if you look for it, you’ll find it.”

B
ack out on the street, Renie offered to get the car to save her cousin the three-block trek. After starting to insist she could manage it just fine, Judith gave in. It was the pavement that bothered her more than the actual walking. Besides, the weather was holding and she enjoyed watching the passing parade of downtowners.

When Renie showed up almost ten minutes later, she was cussing her head off. “All this damned traffic! Where do these people come from? Five minutes to go three blocks? That’s galling!” She sped up though the traffic light was already amber and raced across the intersection, startling some pedestrians who had dared to take a step off the curb. “See what I mean? Nobody knows how to walk, let alone drive.”

“Coz,” Judith said, gritting her teeth as Renie pulled out into oncoming traffic around a car that was trying to pick off a vacant parking spot, “someday you’re going to get arrested.”

“Good. Then I can sit in a nice cell and work on my graphic designs in peace. Except,” she went on, glaring at a young man who looked as if he might be thinking about jaywalking, “even our jails are too crowded. Half the people who move here must be criminals.”

“Like Mr. Alipur?” Judith said in a mild tone.

“Huh? Yeah—like him.”

The tactic worked. Renie seemed to calm down. The absence of opposition usually cooled her quick temper.

“I wonder,” Judith continued, “if Ruby asked too many questions at The Persian Cat.”

“I didn’t know she asked any,” Renie said in her normal voice.

“I don’t know either, because she couldn’t remember what happened after she got there.”

“True,” Renie agreed. “But what would she ask about that might alarm Mr. Alipur?”

“I have no idea.” Judith sighed. “I should do some asking of my own—namely about why there was no mention of fingerprints in Woody’s report. It’s so obvious an omission that I assume the killer wore gloves. But it still seems strange. Again, I feel as if I’m missing something.”

“I’ve missed quite a few cars in the past five minutes,” Renie said. “Thank goodness we’re almost to Heraldsgate Hill. Cammy’s like a horse—she knows when she’s heading for home.”

Judith checked her watch. “It’s a good thing we are. It’s almost four. I wonder if Jessi has called back from the bookshop.”

“Jessi? I didn’t know you talked to her.”

“I forgot to mention it. I asked if she could find out anything about Ruby. Barry’s still around, so maybe they can track her down.”

Renie had started up the Counterbalance. “Oh, great! I’m behind two buses. How many buses do we need on this hill? The city is talking about consolidating the four routes. The one on our side of the hill has never made much sense the way it zigzags all over the place until it starts the descent toward downtown. The only good thing is that the end of the line is just two blocks from our house. Not that I ever take the bus, but Bill does sometimes.”

“I can’t recall the last time I took a bus,” Judith said as they waited for one of the two trolleys to pull out from a stop midway up the hill. “I suppose I could bus it to Falstaff’s, but then I’d have to lug heavy bags of . . .” She went silent.

“What?” Renie finally said, before making the left turn off the Counterbalance.

“I just realized what
I’m
missing,” Judith said. “Now, why didn’t I think of that before?”

D
espite Renie’s badgering, she refused to give voice to her sudden insight.

“You know that when I get one of these weird ideas about a case, I have to mull before I tell anybody, even you. I want to be darned sure I’m not making a fool of myself.”

“I’ve seen you do that often—and vice versa,” Renie countered.

“But never when it comes to murder. That’s different. I can’t afford to be wrong.” Judith opened the car door. “I may be crazy. Let me sort through a few things and then I’ll tell all.”

Renie surrendered. “Okay. You still owe me for parking.”

Judith turned around before stepping onto the pavement. “If I’m right, Joe and I will take you and Bill to dinner—anyplace you choose.”

“How about Paris?”

“Get real. See you later.” Judith headed for the house.

The first thing she did was check phone messages. So far, Jessi hadn’t called back. Phyliss apparently was still finishing the laundry in the basement. Judith could hear her singing float up the stairs in an off-key rendition of “Gladly the Cross I’d Bear.” Upon one memorable occasion, Gertrude had listened to Phyliss butchering the hymn and said she thought her religion must be pretty dumb if they worshiped a cross-eyed bear. Phyliss hadn’t taken kindly to the comment.

Feeling antsy—and not being able to endure the cleaning woman’s attack on “The Old Rugged Cross”—Judith went into the living room and picked up the phone on the cherrywood table. She felt presumptuous about dialing Woody’s direct number, but did it anyway.

She had mixed feelings when he picked up on the first ring. “Oh, hi, Woody,” she said, sounding surprised, as if she hadn’t realized
she’d
called
him
. “I hate to bother you, but I have a question that may sound stupid. It only occurred to me after going over your case file and it occurred to me there was no mention of—”

“Fingerprints,” Woody said, chuckling in his rich baritone. “I wondered why you hadn’t asked, but assumed Joe told you.”

“Joe?” Judith said, feeling dopier by the second.

“Yes, but maybe he thought it was obvious. There weren’t any, except for the victim’s. If we’d had DNA back then, it might have solved the case. But of course that came along later.”

Judith thought for a moment. “Did you keep Opal’s gloves?”

“The ones she used for gardening? Yes. They’re still locked up in the evidence room.”

“You mean she had other gloves?”

“She may have, but we didn’t go through all of her personal belongings. Nothing was disturbed anywhere else in the house and there were no traces of dirt past the living room, so it’s possible that even Opal didn’t go beyond there either. Reconstructing her movements before she was killed, it appeared that she’d come inside, sat down on the sofa or in one of the chairs, and was reading a magazine when the killer arrived. She’d put in quite a few plants and it was a fairly warm day.”

“That’s my point,” Judith said. “Who’d be wearing gloves?”

“Wearing or carrying?” Woody responded. “Yes, that suggests the murder was premeditated. Time of death is tricky because it got much warmer as the day moved along.”

“Oh!” Judith exclaimed. “I keep forgetting to tell you that Renie and I talked to a neighbor you didn’t interview, Ziva Feldstein, who lives across the street from the Tooms house. She left town shortly after the murder occurred, but she saw Opal working in her garden around noon. Mrs. Feldstein spoke to her only in greeting because she was hurrying to catch the bus.”

“That does move time of death up a bit,” Woody conceded. “I gather you didn’t get the impression this neighbor might be a suspect?”

“No, though she didn’t think much of the company Opal kept.” Judith paused, hoping that Woody wouldn’t scoff at what she intended to say next. “I think the killer wore Opal’s gloves.”

“Yes, that’s possible,” Woody conceded. “But what does it prove?”

“Nothing, really. Except that if the killer is ever found and you still have Opal’s gloves, you might be able to nail him. Or her. DNA, I mean.”

“That’s also possible,” Woody said drily. “But first we have to find him—or her.”

A
fter she’d rung off from talking to Woody, she felt foolish, despite his assurances that he still believed in her logical and uncanny ability to sort through even the most baffling of homicide cases.

“Down in the dumps, huh?” Phyliss said, putting on her raincoat. “Feel like the Lord doesn’t love you? Could be true, given the way you people worship pictures of some gal jumping up and down on a snake.”

“The Blessed Mother isn’t ‘some gal’ and she’s
standing
on the serpent that represents Satan and evil,” Judith asserted with less than her usual vigor. “Even you know better than that, Phyliss. It’s symbolic.”

“I know what I see with my own two eyes,” Phyliss muttered. “Maybe you’ve got the epazootik. Isn’t that what your mother calls it?”

“It’s sort of a family saying,” Judith said. “My grandmother used that term to describe any illness that hadn’t been diagnosed.”

“Hunh.” Phyliss started for the door. “Then with all my troubles, I must have about twenty epazootiks. See you tomorrow.” She went on her way in a flutter of black all-weather fabric and pious self-righteousness.

Judith checked in the arriving guests—two couples, one from Juneau and the other from Kansas City, Kansas. She’d keep the appetizers simple: a platter of prawns, vegetables, tiny sausages, two kinds of dip, and an assortment of crackers. By the time Joe came home just after five-thirty, she was peeling potatoes for the boiled dinner.

“You look worn out,” he said, after kissing her hello.

“I’m frustrated,” she admitted. “I think I’m getting somewhere with this case and then I think I’m nuts.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “Were you serious about that pliant inspector for the Watkins house?”

Joe frowned. “Well . . . not really, but if it’d help Woody . . . and you . . .”

Judith smiled. “It might. You can tell whoever it is that the visit comes as a request from
Modern Manse
magazine.”

“That almost sounds real,” he murmured. “Hey—why can’t I be the inspector? That’d save me begging a favor.”

“I . . . why not? But you’re working.”

“I’m on my own time and I’m making progress. I could do it tomorrow afternoon. I wonder if Bill would like to go along? There’s a new sporting goods place south of the Thurlow District that we’ve been thinking of checking out.”

“Good idea. Bill’s a trained actor. He’d be perfect.”

“I keep forgetting that,” Joe said, getting the Scotch down from the cupboard. “Just as well he gave up a career in theater to become a psychologist. He got all the drama he needs living with Renie.”

“He provides enough of his own,” Judith said. “Let him take the lead. You might start acting like a cop.”

Even before taking a sip of her drink, Judith began to feel better. She was further buoyed by Gertrude’s pleasure over the sauerkraut and boiled pig hock dinner, though she noted that Judith couldn’t make nefle like Grandma Grover did.

“Nobody can,” Judith said, “unless it’s Auntie Vance.”

“She comes close,” Gertrude allowed.

“How’d you do at cribbage with Carl?”

“I beat the socks off of him,” the old lady replied. “He’s good, but I outpegged him six games out of nine.”

“Good for you,” Judith said, and on that note she went back into the house just as the phone rang.

“Hi, Judith,” Jessi said. “Barry and I found out where Ruby lives, so we went over there after I closed the shop, but she wasn’t home. The place was dark. Maybe she got another job.”

Judith’s rebooted spirits plunged. “If you hear anything, would you let me know? By the way, when we first met her she was hanging out with some guy named Burt. He’s a blogger. Do you know him?”

“I don’t think so,” Jessi replied. “Maybe he was in town only for Oktoberfest.”

“Very likely,” Judith agreed. “Thanks for checking on Ruby. I realize you don’t know her well, but what’s your impression of her?”

“Just from seeing her on the job, she strikes me as kind of tough, but I sense it’s a put-on to hide bad things that’ve happened to her.”

“You’re right about that. Someday I’ll tell you her story.”

“I hope it has a happy ending,” Jessi said.

“So do I.”

But Judith’s worst fear was that the ending might have already come for Ruby.

Chapter 20

T
he phone rang just after Judith finished cleaning up from dinner.

“Dooley reporting in, Chief,” Tyler said in a conspiratorial tone. “Silver sports car I saw earlier, possibly a Maserati, just pulled into the cul-de-sac by the Frosch house. Man got out, waited for someone to let him in, and went inside. Couldn’t see who opened the door.”

“It had to be Brick’s girlfriend, Lainie,” Judith said. “Herb Frosch is at work. I don’t suppose you have to walk your dog. You could check out the make for sure and get the license number.”

“I already took Barkley out before dinner, but I can do it again. To heck with Algebra Two. I’m on the case.” Tyler rang off.

Judith stood in the kitchen, wondering if she dared peek outside from the parlor. It was dark and the view was impaired. But it was time to put out the Pilgrim and Indian figures Aunt Ellen had sent from Beatrice, Nebraska. She’d used corncobs for bodies, corn husks for clothes, corn tassels for hair, and corn kernels for eyes. Aunt Ellen had also made a Thanksgiving wreath out of sixteen-millimeter film strips that wasn’t as appealing.

Joe had already headed up to the family quarters, apparently to talk to Bill about their roles as building inspectors. It took Judith at least five minutes to get the decorations from the basement. By the time she went out to the porch, the sports car was still parked by the Frosch rental. Tyler was entering the cul-de-sac with Barkley, but stopped when he saw her. She moved her hands in a shooing gesture, indicating he should keep going.

By the time she’d arranged the figures near the door and hung the wreath, Tyler was approaching Hillside Manor. “Cute stuff, Mrs. Flynn,” he said in a voice a trifle too loud. “How come those Pilgrims and Indians look blind?”

“The dots my aunt painted on the corn-kernel eyes wore off the first year I had them,” Judith explained, speaking in a natural tone. “I consider the result symbolic. Both Pilgrims and Indians are blind to the fact that they belong to different races. A portent of things to come.” She lowered her voice. “You got the license plate?”

Approaching the steps, Tyler nodded and also spoke quietly. “
M-C-Q-S-P-Y.
Maserati Spyder, first ones came out in ’01. Not a race car. Serious wheels, though.”

Judith zeroed in on the license plate. “
M-C-Q-S-P-Y?
I get the ‘SPY’ for Spyder, but . . .” Movement in the direction of the Frosch house caught her eye. “Come up on the porch, Tyler. Don’t look around. I think somebody’s coming out of the rental.”

Tyler climbed the steps at a normal pace with Barkley at his side. Judith edged to her right, by the planter box and behind the large rhododendron that grew next to the porch.

“They can’t see us, but we can see them,” she whispered.

“I don’t see anybody,” Tyler whispered back. “The door’s still open.”

“Here comes the man,” Judith said. “He’s carrying a suitcase.”

“And here comes the woman I saw in the Explorer. She’s got a bunch of stuff.”

“She sure does.” Judith watched Lainie head to the Maserati while the man closed the door. “Lainie’s leaving. I mean, really leaving.” She stopped speaking, seeing the couple get into the car and pull out of the cul-de-sac.

“That license plate—I wonder if the ‘MCQ’ stands for Dirk McQueen. I spoke to Lainie this afternoon and she mentioned his name. I gathered he’s another race car driver she’d turned down in favor of Brick.”

“Hmm,” Tyler murmured. “Could that be a motive for running down Brick?”

“It wasn’t a sports model that hit him. In fact, there’s a much better suspect who drives a Nissan very like a witness’s description of the car. He’ll probably get collared very soon.”

“Who is it?” Tyler asked excitedly.

“Wait until the arrest is made,” Judith replied. “He’s an old foe of the Frosches. Hey—do you want to come in?”

Tyler grimaced. “I better not. Barkley likes to chew stuff he’s never seen before.” He glanced down at the dog, who was looking up at his master with fond eyes and a wagging tail. “Any point in me staying at my post by the telescope tonight?”

“Maybe not as far as Lainie and McQueen are concerned,” Judith said. “But who knows what else could happen around here. I wonder how Herb will feel about Lainie defecting.”

“Mr. Frosch? Maybe he’s glad to see her go.”

Judith considered Tyler’s words. “Yes. Maybe he told her to get out. Herb ought to know her a lot better than I do.”

A
fter Tyler left, Judith went out to talk to Gertrude. “Mother,” she began quite seriously, sitting on the sofa’s arm, “think back to the tall, dark, and handsome caller you talked to the other day. I know you told me what he said, but is there anything you might’ve left out?”

Gertrude narrowed her eyes at Judith. “You think I’ve got Alzie’s?”

“No. But you insist you’re deaf. And”—Judith softened her tone and smiled at her mother—“you also tend to be flippant when you tell me things. Think back to what the guy told you. Maybe I’ll find more pig hocks in the next couple of days.”

Gertrude gave her daughter a gimlet eye, but grinned. “You’re not always so dumb, kiddo. Okay, for pig hocks, I’ll try to remember. To tell the truth, I’m not sure what I told you in the first place. He didn’t say all that much, in fact. Refresh my non-Alzie’s memory.”

It took Judith a moment to resurrect the conversation. “You already told me he didn’t ask about Ruby, right?”

Gertrude nodded. “I didn’t mention her either. No reason to.”

“He wanted the lady of the house, not Mrs. Flynn or the B&B owner?”

Her mother nodded again. “No name. Just . . .” She frowned. “It wasn’t exactly the lady of the house. It was the landlady.”

“Oh!” Judith slipped off the sofa arm. “That makes sense now!”

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why,” Gertrude chided.

“Yes, I will.” She quickly explained about the sports car’s return and Lainie’s going off in it with her belongings. “The driver may not have been at the track when Renie and I were there. Silver sports cars aren’t that unusual in this city. I think McQueen showed up that day to find Lainie, but didn’t know exactly where she was. He may’ve had Joe’s address as the rental contact and thought the landlady lived here. That explains his question. At some point in the last few days, he must have gotten in touch with Lainie or vice versa. And now they’ve taken off.”

Gertrude frowned. “So what’s it got to do with Ruby?”

“Maybe nothing, but when Mrs. Frosch was taken to the hospital, Ruby said she recognized someone. I figured it was the son, Brick Frosch. I was wrong.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Gertrude said. “Don’t get your tail in a knot over it. You married two of your mistakes.”

“Mother . . . please, stop,” Judith said, getting off of the sofa arm. “Just when I was thinking what an old darling you really are.”

“I don’t want you getting used to that idea and me going all mushy on you like your aunt Deb does with Serena. Makes me want to puke.”

Judith leaned down to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect miracles.”

“Neither do I,” Gertrude retorted. “But I do expect more pig hocks.”

B
ack in the house, Judith plotted her next move. The plan that evolved in her mind made her feel not just devious, but almost evil. She grabbed a paper-towel roll, a box of matches, and the phone. Moving purposefully to the front door, she went outside, removed Aunt Ellen’s wreath, and set it on the porch. Then she called 911 and reported a fire.

Judith waited until she heard the sirens before putting the paper towels and the wreath on top of the rhododendron bush, but making sure they weren’t too close to the porch. Lighting the paper, she rushed back inside to drop the matches in the elephant-foot umbrella stand. By the time the fire engine roared into sight, the flames had consumed at least half the paper. And, of course, the sirens had already attracted the Rankerses and the Porters.

“You’re on fire!” Arlene cried. “Stop, rock, and roll!”

Judith moved into full view. “It’s ‘stop, drop, and—’ ” She broke off as the firefighters came racing toward the house, hose at the ready.

“Lordy!” Rochelle Porter exclaimed, hands pressed to her face. “Are we hexed? What will happen around here next?”

“Aren’t we due for something
good
?” her husband, Gabe, replied. “There
is
a law of averages. Unless you’re Job, I suppose.”

As the hose went into action, Judith realized she’d better get out of the way and shut the front door. She barely made it before she heard a burst of water hit solid wood.

“What the hell’s going on?” Joe demanded, hurrying down the stairs. “Is it a heart attack or a fire?”

“A fire,” Judith said, forced to raise her voice to be heard over the high-powered hose. “Don’t worry, it’s not serious.”

Joe stepped down into the entry hall. “Serious? Are you nuts? It sounds like whatever’s happening is right outside the house.”

“It is. I’ll handle it. Go ahead and watch TV.”

Joe’s face turned very red. “You
are
nuts! Tell me what’s going on before I pitch a five-star fit!”

“Okay, okay! You never liked Aunt Ellen’s Thanksgiving wreath anyway.”

“Aunt Ellen’s . . .” Joe seemed to deflate, shoulders slumping. “Right, it’s hideous.
Was
hideous?”

Judith nodded. “I decided to get rid of it.”

Joe ran his hand over his head just as the hose went quiet. “Okay. I’m beginning to figure out what’s going on. Yes, there’s some basketball on that I might enjoy. In fact, I’d enjoy watching a test pattern if they still had it on TV. I’ll now leave you to your latest weird yet misguided scheme.” He turned around and went back upstairs.

Judith cautiously opened the front door. The Ericsons, the Bhatts, the Steins, and some of the Dooleys—including Tyler—had shown up, but they’d all moved away from the house. Judith wondered if the firefighters were going to call for crowd control. The porch was awash, though the inevitable slant of most structures in Earthquake Country allowed the water to slowly but surely run down the steps onto the pavement.

Ignoring the smoking mess atop the big rhododendron, Judith scanned the firefighters for her prey. Sure enough, Jess Sparks was standing some ten feet away, making sure the hose didn’t get caught in the low-growing plants around the rhododendron. As she realized he was about to walk away, Judith called his name. He turned around and mounted the stairs.

“You okay, Mrs. Flynn?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, though not with her usual aplomb. “You’ll need some kind of statement from me, right?”

“Yes, if you have any idea of how the fire started. But the battalion chief should be the one to talk to you.”

Judith folded her hands, as if in prayer. “Please. I know you. I don’t know your chief. I’ve had such a scare. Do you mind if I speak to you instead? Inside, of course. I have to sit down. I’m kind of shaky.”

“Well . . . let me go ask,” Jess said. He moved quickly down the steps.

“Judith!” Naomi Stein called. “Can any of us help?”

“No,” Judith responded. “I have to talk to one of the firefighters. But thanks. The fire apparently didn’t do much damage.”

“Okay,” Naomi said. “Let us know if you need anything.”

“I will,” Judith replied as Jess came back onto the porch.

“I can’t get to the chief,” he told her, “so I guess it’s okay for me to take over. One of your neighbors has practically got him nailed to the engine.”

Judith glanced at the onlookers, who were beginning to disperse. She saw Carl, but not Arlene. “It’s probably the block watch captain’s wife. She’s very . . . involved. Let’s go inside.”

Judith allowed Jess to go first. Glancing at the Pilgrims and the Indians, she thought that the figures looked as if they’d lived long enough to survive the Johnstown Flood. But barely.
Oh, well,
she thought,
corn can withstand
a little rain. They’ll dry out. S
he figured the battalion chief might be in worse shape by the time Arlene got through with him.

Judith offered Jess a seat in the parlor. “What do you need to know?” she asked, sitting in a matching chair.

“Have you any idea of how the fire started?”

“A prank, I suppose. Kids these days.” She shook her head. “I assume there wasn’t much damage?”

“Not that I could see,” Jess replied. “That big bush was only scorched. It’s a good thing we’ve had so much rain. We couldn’t really tell what it was that got burned, though.”

“It’s hard to say,” Judith said.
In more ways than one,
she thought to herself. Not everybody had a holiday wreath made out of filmstrips. Or so she hoped.

“Maybe trash kids picked up someplace,” Jess suggested. “Just be glad it wasn’t heavy-duty fireworks.”

“My, yes!” Judith exclaimed, feigning relief. “Say,” she said as if the thought had just occurred to her, “did you ever get in touch with Ruby?”

“No. I tried to, but I couldn’t track her down in Little Bavaria.” He frowned. “Are you sure she’s still there?”

“Not really,” Judith replied, sitting up very straight and shedding her air of distress. “I think something may have happened to her. Why don’t you tell me the reason you wanted to meet her.”

Jess removed his firefighter’s hat and put it in his lap. “It’s personal. How well do you know her?”

“Fairly well,” Judith replied. “Granted, I only met her last month in Little Bavaria, but she stayed here for several days last week. I do know a lot about her past, though.”

Jess studied Judith for a few moments before he spoke again. “I wanted to tell her something. In fact, it’s something she doesn’t know about her past.” He cleared his throat and turned his gaze to the stone fireplace. “Ruby and I had different fathers, but the same mother. I wanted to find out if she had any idea about who killed our mother. She was Ruby’s mother—and mine. My father, Hector Sparks, and Opal Tooms were lovers.”