Gone With the Win: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery (7 page)

Judith did—for at least five minutes, with only a couple of interruptions from Renie. “So,” she said in conclusion, “the subject will come up tonight. You probably should warn Bill. He might get bored.”

“Not necessarily,” Renie responded. “He’ll have something different to discuss with Oscar. I get tired of hearing them yakking about soccer.”

“I didn’t think Bill liked soccer,” Judith said—and could have bitten her tongue for encouraging accounts of her cousin’s husband’s conversations with a stuffed animal. “I mean—”

“He doesn’t,” Renie interrupted. “But Oscar insists he played soccer in The Village. In The Jungle, actually. I think they swung on vines instead of just kicking the ball around on the ground. Snakes, you know. Kind of dangerous.”

“Stop. Please. Do you want to say hello to Ruby or do you want to go home to your own cozy insane asylum?”

“I’ll wait,” Renie said, looking wistfully at the cookie jar. “I really do want to help you. Can I peel potatoes or something? You can tell me more about the long-ago murder you’re not trying to solve.”

Judith stood up. “Okay, you do the potatoes. I think I’ve filled you in about the cold case. I just wish Ruby would start remembering what happened to her before she blacked out in the old neighborhood. Say,” she said suddenly, “being a psychologist, could Bill figure out a way for her to get her memory back?”

Renie shrugged. “I suppose he could always hit her over the head with a hammer.”

“I’m serious,” Judith said, hauling a bag of potatoes out of a bin under the counter.

“I’ll ask him,” Renie said. “I take it you don’t want to go out to your old hood to help rekindle her memory?”

“I really don’t,” Judith admitted. “It holds too many dreary memories of my own. Though Ruby says it’s changed a lot for the better.”

“Short of becoming a nuclear waste dump, it had nowhere else to go,” Renie remarked, getting a peeler out of a drawer. “Did you say the old folks’ home was called Peebles?”

“Yes.” Judith looked up from her recipe. “Why?”

“They got taken over years ago by AEGISGOOD, a national nursing-home chain. Do you remember a brochure I did for them back then?”

“No,” Judith replied. “You do so many different projects that I can’t keep up. Did you go out there?”

Renie cast a gimlet eye at her cousin. “No. Do you think I wanted to see my future unfold before me?”

Judith laughed. “I can’t imagine you living in a nursing home. Opal Tooms wouldn’t be the only one to meet an untimely end.”

“I’d be too weak to do any damage. But I did meet some of the staff.” Renie made a face in an apparent effort at recalling names. “A woman who ran the place . . . I want to say ‘Gruesome,’ but that was only the way she looked.”

“Grissom?” Judith suggested.

“Right. Myrna Grissom. Talk about a hatchet face. She could’ve cut petrified wood with it.”

“Did she strike you as honest?”

Renie recoiled in her chair. “Strike me? Hey, I didn’t hit her first!”

“Don’t be an idiot. You know what I mean.”

“Well . . .” Renie leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Honest, as in straightforward? Yes. Honest as in integrity? Probably not. We weren’t discussing ethics. I wanted her to ooze compassion. She tried, but flunked. I recall thinking that Myrna saw her patients as dollar signs, not people.”

“Anything about her employees?”

Renie sat up straight and tapped her long fingernails on the table. “Hmm. Chattel. That’s the word that comes to mind, but it was more attitude than what she actually said. Frankly, we didn’t go into much detail about staff. I was aiming for the concept. Color, too—purple or mauve? I ended up with puce.”

Judith scowled at her cousin. “What does
that
mean?”

“Seriously? Now that I’m beginning to remember more about that project, if you want to know the truth, it meant I was only lukewarm about Peebles. Purple would have made a strong statement and mauve would have been more soothing. My choice of puce indicated I didn’t care much for the setup or for Myrna. It means flea in French, going back to bloodstained sheets left by flea bites. Somehow it fit with what I perceived as Myrna’s attitude toward her patients.”

Judith grimaced. “As well as I know you, sometimes the way your mind works is . . . a bit strange.”

“At least it still works,” Renie said. “Is Ms. Gruesome a suspect?”

Judith shook her head. “I doubt it. There are other more likely people involved. But apparently all of them were eliminated because . . .” She stopped and bit her lip. “Hey, coz, I’m really not trying to solve this thing. Joe is, because of Woody’s involvement. I’m only helping Ruby put things down on paper to help get her memory back.”

“Of course,” Renie deadpanned.

Judith’s dark eyes snapped. “I mean it.”

“I know you do.” Renie’s expression didn’t change.

“You’d better.”

“Sure. So what do we do now? Make a sentimental journey out to the Thurlow District?”

“Coz . . .” Judith said, exasperated. “Please. Yes, the case will be discussed tonight at dinner, but that’s it as far as I’m concerned. Joe and Ruby are going over Woody’s files in the living room. I’m in the kitchen getting dinner prepared. That’s it.”

“Got it,” Renie said, standing up. She headed for the swinging half doors that led to the dining room.

“Hey,” Judith called after her, “where are you going?”

“To have a sit-down with Joe and Ruby,” Renie called out. “Hurry up. You’ll miss something.”

Judith dug her heels into the floor. She refused to be sucked in by Renie. Of course, she’d told Joe she’d join him and Ruby. But domestic duties had intervened. In retirement, running the house and the business was her priority. On the other hand, she’d promised to help Ruby. And she owed Woody, if only for friendship’s sake. The pork loin didn’t have to go into the oven for another three hours. She couldn’t let Ruby, Woody, or Joe down.

Judith got up from the chair. She headed for the living room and hoped she hadn’t left retirement from sleuthing behind her.

Chapter 7

T
o sum up,” Joe said to Judith when she sat down beside him on the sofa, “according to Woody’s case file, there were some shaky alibis. Suspicion isn’t enough to nail anyone down with the two-day gap before the body was found and the five-hour window for time of death.”

“True,” Judith murmured. “Whose alibis were iffy?”

“Several,” Joe replied, picking up the single sheet of paper. “These people are witnesses, not suspects. Woody eliminated Mrs. Crabbe, who found the body. She was in her late sixties then and died in 1994.”

“Besides,” Ruby put in, “she had arthritis and probably couldn’t have managed to strangle Mom, even by surprise. Nice old girl. I can’t imagine her doing such a thing. I’m part of the alibi for Freddy Mae and her parents and vice versa because I was staying at their house. They hardly knew Mom. They’re retired in Arizona and later on became Ozzie’s in-laws, but that happened after Mom was killed. Dad was in the slammer and now he’s dead, too. Hector Sparks must be long gone, but he was so crippled that he couldn’t get out of bed by himself.”

“And the rest?” Judith asked.

Joe put the list on the coffee table. “We’ll save that for Woody this evening. With the big window for time of death, it’s hard for anybody to have an ironclad alibi, especially if they were in the vicinity.”

Renie pointed to a name on the list. “This trainer, Gonzales. I wonder if Uncle Al knows him from the track. He’s pals with everybody who hangs out there.” She turned to Ruby. “Did your mother know him?”

“I doubt it,” Ruby replied. “He was Duke’s alibi.”

Joe nodded. “Woody’s last check on these people was 1998. Gonzales was at the new track by then.” He stood up. “We’re done here. To be continued tonight during the cocktail hour. Seven o’clock,” he said, looking at Renie.

“Bill likes to eat at six,” she said, also getting up.

“Bill will have to wait,” Judith said. “Why can’t he have a late-afternoon snack?”

“Can’t do that. His snacks are precisely timed. My best bet is to drug him so he takes a longer nap. See you later.” She made her exit.

Judith headed for the kitchen, Joe went upstairs, and Ruby disappeared into the powder room off the entry hall.

Three minutes later, Renie returned via the back door. “Action at the Frosch place,” she announced. “Better check it out.”

Judith put aside the recipe book she’d been studying and followed Renie outside to the Camry that was parked in the driveway. “Pretend we’re just . . . chatting,” she suggested, casting a curious glance at Herb and Lainie, who were talking to a pudgy, dark-haired middle-aged man whose back was turned to the cousins.

Renie nodded before mouthing unspoken words. Judith smiled agreeably. She managed to catch a few snatches of the conversation between Lainie and the stranger.

“ . . . not a thin dime . . .” Brick’s girlfriend said heatedly.

“ . . . crazy old coot,” the pudgy man said. “ . . . not that Tooms tart?”

Judith and Renie exchanged curious glances.

Herb spoke up in a loud, belligerent voice. “Why would we be living in a rental if we were rich?”

“You’re lying!” the stranger shouted. “You must’ve blown the money! I’ll fix your wagon!” Head down, shoulders hunched, he stalked away to a blue sedan and roared out of the cul-de-sac. Lainie whirled around and stomped back into the house, leaving Herb on the sidewalk.

Judith couldn’t resist. “Let’s comfort Mr. Frosch. He
is
our default tenant.” She hurried from the driveway, calling his name. Renie was right behind her. “Is there a problem?” Judith asked just as Herb started back toward the house.

“Awww . . .” Herb waved his arm in a disgusted gesture. “Damned jailbird. Got prison pallor all over him. No big deal.” He paused, peering closely at Judith. “You’re . . . ?”

“Judith Flynn, Vivian’s—your landlady’s—on-site stand-in along with my husband, Joe. She sends her best wishes for your wife’s recovery. I hope that man didn’t harass you.”

“Oh. Thanks. That’s nice.” He ran a hand through what was left of his fair hair. “No big deal. That guy—Beaker Schram—was my wife’s ex. Years ago, Elma and a coworker got into it. I hardly remember what it was all about, except it had to do with some old goat who kept telling every good-looking woman he met that he was leaving her his fortune. For all I know, he was on welfare. Now this jackass gets sprung and comes around making trouble. Guess he thought Elma had inherited a big wad. Schram’s nuts. Probably spent all his time in the slammer brooding about losing Elma and a pile of money. To hell with him.” He started moving toward the house.

“The Tombs?” Renie asked. “Schram was in a New York City jail?”

Herb turned to scowl at her. “No. Why are you talking about tombs in New York? Schram did time somewhere in this state.”

Renie looked ingenuous. “But he mentioned something that sounded like tombs. My mistake.”

Briefly, Herb looked puzzled. “Ah! Think it was another gal’s name at Elma’s work. Speaking of work, I gotta run.” He went into the house.

“So,” Judith murmured, “we have a real connection between the Frosches and Opal. What a coincidence.”

“Not really,” Renie said as they walked back to the Camry. “Bear in mind that as a native, there aren’t that many residents who go back as far as we do. When we had the city’s sesquicentennial celebration of its founding several years ago, there were only a thousand people who had ancestors prestatehood in 1889. You and I and all our relatives made up a big chunk of those people. Everybody who has come here since is a virtual newcomer. For all we know, you and I are related to the Frosch and Tooms families.”

Judith shuddered. “I hope not.”

R
oom Two had been taken by a visiting botany professor from Indiana, so Ruby had moved her belongings up to the guest bedroom on the third floor. She was coming down the front staircase when Judith went back inside.

“Let’s sit in the living room,” she suggested to Ruby. “I need to take a few deep breaths.”

“How come?” Ruby asked, looking wary. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” Judith assured her, indicating her guest should sit on the opposite sofa by the hearth. “I have a question about someone your mom worked with. What do you remember about Erma Schram, the aide on Woody’s list?”

“Erma.” Ruby frowned. “Mom didn’t talk much about her job unless it was something funny or unusual. But she mentioned Erma a couple of times. Mom didn’t like her. She said Erma could get nasty. In fact, at one point she thought Erma was trying to get her fired, but I don’t remember why. Maybe Erma was in a bad place. She was going through a divorce with a guy who was in prison.”

Judith dropped her bombshell. “I think Erma is Elma Frosch.”

Ruby’s reaction puzzled Judith. “Elma Frosch?”

“The sick woman from the rental house.”

“No!” Ruby held her head. “How can that be?”

“Her ex showed up a little while ago and was giving Mr. Frosch and Lainie—Brick’s girlfriend—a bad time. He mentioned your mother’s name, but I don’t know why. After Beaker Schram drove off, Herb told Renie and me Elma’s ex had been in prison.”

Ruby turned pale. “B-B-Beaker S-S-Schram?”

“Do you know him?”

“No.” Ruby looked puzzled. “But that name . . . Mom must’ve mentioned him when she was bitching about Erma. Oh, damn! Why can’t I remember stuff?”

“What kind of stuff?” Judith asked gently.

Ruby sighed, though her color was coming back. “I don’t know. His name creeps me out. I couldn’t know him from a long time ago, could I?”

“Maybe. I suppose he and Elma lived in the Thurlow District. Mr. Frosch said Beaker had spent some time in prison. Would your dad have known him?”

“I’ve no idea.” She suddenly brightened. “You saw him. Was he a Meat & Mingle customer?”

Judith made a face. “I didn’t get a good look at him. His back was turned and he charged off with his head down like an angry bull.”

“Ohmigod! Do you think he killed Mom?”

Judith thought back to the brief and fragmentary conversation between the two men. “I got the impression he might’ve been in prison when your mother was killed. But I can’t be sure about that. Joe should be able to check that out—or Woody could. Schram’s name isn’t on the witness list, though Erma’s is—even if she’s changed her first name. Maybe she did that in an effort to get a new start in life after divorcing and remarrying.”

“That kind of makes sense,” Ruby allowed.

Judith stood up. “It may not mean anything, except it verifies a connection between your mother and the Frosches. That may not mean anything either. The link to the Frosches being here is via Joe’s ex-wife. Vivian left a trail of people, including husbands, behind her in this city.”

Ruby was also on her feet. “No wonder she moved to Florida. That must be a relief to you . . . and Joe.”

Judith didn’t argue.

B
y five-fifteen, the new arrivals had checked in. They would all stay until Monday morning except for a California couple who were heading to Canada the next day, but had stopped over to visit relatives in one of the city’s eastside suburbs.

Shortly after six, Judith put the pork loin in the oven. At 6:10, Gertrude wheeled her way into the kitchen and demanded to know why her supper was so late.

“I told you,” Judith said, trying to be patient, “the Prices and Renie and Bill are coming to dinner. You’re welcome to eat with us. You do want some of the roast pork, don’t you?”

“Are you wrecking it with fancy foreign stuff?” the old lady demanded. “I like my pork to taste like
pork,
not goofy spices and weeds you pull out of the garden. What’s wrong with a pig hock now and then? A boiled dinner—when was the last time you made one of those?”

Judith juggled four acorn squashes she’d taken out of the fridge. “It’s not easy to find pig hocks, Mother. Falstaff’s rarely carries them.”

Gertrude glared at the squashes. “What are you going to do with those? Bounce them off of Dumb Cluck’s head?”

“I’m baking them with brown sugar and butter.”

“I hate acorn squash.”

“I have beans for you.”

Gertrude looked wary. “What kind? I’m hungry for lima beans.”

“That’s fine,” Judith said. “I have some in the pantry.”

“They won’t get done in there.”

Judith took a deep breath. “I know that. It takes five minutes to warm them up. Why not eat dinner with us? The Prices are like family.”

“That’s the problem,” Gertrude grumbled. “Who says I want to eat with family? What’s worse, my nutty niece and her screwball husband
are
family. Forget it. I like my own company better than yours.”

“Fine. Are you going to wait here until it’s ready?”

Gertrude nodded in the direction of the living room. “Not with that gaggle of geese you call guests out there. It’s a good thing I’m deaf.” She reversed the wheelchair and headed for the door, narrowly missing Ruby, who was about to set foot in the hall from the back stairs.

“You ought to ticket your mother for speeding,” Ruby said with a laugh when she entered the kitchen. “Guess what? I took a nap. I haven’t done that in ages. It’s so relaxing here. Can I help?”

“Yes,” Judith replied. “Find a small can of lima beans in the pantry for the speeding geezer. Then make a drink and keep me company.”

It took Ruby only a couple of minutes to find the lima beans. “Any news on the neighbor who got hauled off in the ambulance?” she asked.

“No,” Judith replied, putting a baking dish of new potatoes into the oven next to the pork loin. The squashes were already on the top rack. “Just the usual neighborhood gossip about what was wrong with her.”

Ruby had gotten out a glass. “Want me to fix you a drink?”

“Thanks, but not yet,” Judith said. “I’ll wait until the Prices and the Joneses get here. The trouble with company is that the living room’s in use most nights until seven. I can host another couple in the parlor, but I need more room for a bigger party.”

Ruby shrugged. “Most people don’t mind eating later.”

“Unless they’re Mother and Renie’s husband,” Judith said.

Ruby was making herself a vodka martini when Joe arrived in the kitchen. “Woody and Sondra are on their way. The former fifteen-minute drive from their house on the other side of the lake now is forty-five minutes with all the newcomers. Too bad he can’t take a squad car.”

But to the Flynns’ surprise, the Prices arrived at exactly seven. They looked unchanged from when Judith and Joe had seen them six months earlier. If they were aging, they were doing it well. Sondra’s raven pageboy bob was untouched by gray and Woody’s salt-and-pepper hair hadn’t receded noticeably since then. The lines in his ebony face were a bit more deeply etched, but his wife’s pecan skin was scarcely marked by time. Judith commented on her youthful looks, but Sondra laughed.

“You should see my insides,” she said as Joe helped her out of a forest-green leather jacket. “They must look like a jumble of writhing snakes. Being a police captain’s wife will give me an ulcer yet.”

Woody gave her a flinty look. “She’s waiting for her widow’s pension. I think she liked it better when I spent more time chasing bad guys than sitting in an office. Frankly, I liked it better, too.”

Joe faked a playful punch at his former partner. “You’re saying that because you finally outrank me. Hey, you have to meet . . .” He looked around the entry hall and peered into the living room. “Where’s Ruby?”

Judith nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “She’s playing barmaid. She’s had more recent experience than I’ve had.”

“Ruby,” Woody said in his soft, deep voice. “She was a teenager when I last saw her. My Lord, where did all those years go?”

Sondra made a face. “Oh, that’s right, we’re rehashing that Thurlow District murder. I hope you guys can help. My better half here still wakes me up with an occasional nightmare over that case.”

Before Judith could lead the Prices into the living room, the Joneses arrived. Renie hugged Woody and kissed him soundly on the cheek.
“Rigoletto!”
she cried. “Second opera this season. You going? We are, despite the 1930s Chicago setting with an Al Capone theme.”