Gone With the Win: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery (9 page)

Renie, however, wasn’t so reticent. “You must’ve had someone to help you sell the house and get everything in order. How did you and your brother handle that?”

“Legal Aid,” Ruby replied. “It was all we could afford. Ozzie thought maybe because he was in the navy, he could get a naval lawyer, but that was too much hassle. We lucked out, though. The house sold pretty fast. I suppose we got screwed, but we just wanted to be done.”

“You should have had our Cathy sell it,” Arlene said. “She’s a real estate whiz. Of course she was still in high school back then.” She paused, scowling. “Or was she? Goodness, how time flies!”

Judith heard voices in the entry hall, indicating that the patrol officers were leaving. Naomi entered the living room from the door by the grandfather clock. “That wasn’t much fun,” she declared. “Mind if I make myself a martini?”

“Go for it,” Judith said.

“Hey,” Renie called to Naomi, “make one for Uzi. I really like seeing drunk dogs make fools of themselves. It makes me almost like them.”

“Not funny, Serena,” Naomi shot back. “Have you ever gotten your bunny gassed?”

Renie looked puzzled. “Do you mean Clarence or Bill?”

“Knock it off,” Bill said under his breath.

Renie jumped off the sofa. “That’s it! I need a refill.” She stomped off to the buffet, almost stepping on Uzi. “What about you, Sondra?”

“Why not?” the other woman murmured. “Excuse me, Judith, but do I smell something burning?”

“The pork!” Judith struggled up from the sofa. A swift look at the grandfather clock told her it was ten to eight. According to the directions, the loin shouldn’t be done for another ten minutes. Hurrying as fast as she dared with her artificial hip, she nipped past a startled Joe and Woody on their way back to the living room. Smoke was pouring into the dining room. She pushed through the half doors, barely able to see her mother sitting by the stove in her wheelchair. The fire alarm went off before Judith could say a word.

Gertrude looked more annoyed than startled. “Turn that thing off!” she yelled. “I’m not
that
deaf!”

“What . . . ?” Judith coughed as she tried to wave away the smoke that was coming from what was left of the pork loin. Backpedaling to the sink, she filled a kettle and dumped it into the baking dish. The water splashed up, shattering the oven light. Glass scattered all over the acorn squash and the new potatoes. But the smoke immediately began to disperse as the loin sizzled and sputtered in its death rattle. The heat, however, was still intense. Judith reached to turn off the oven and noticed it was set at five hundred degrees. “Mother!” she screamed. “Did you turn this up?”

“You bet,” Gertrude said, wiping her watery eyes with a hankie. “It’s almost eight. I like to eat supper at five. You want me to starve or should I go outside and graze on what’s left of the dahlias? I hear some fancy restaurants serve flowers nowadays.”

Joe, Bill, and Woody had charged into the kitchen. Judging from how fast the smoke was dissipating, someone had opened the front door.

And the back door, Judith realized as all the women entered via the hall. “Hey,” Renie said, “I think dinner’s over. We must’ve missed it when we went outside to catch a breath of fresh air. When do the firefighters show up? We haven’t heard a siren in almost an hour.”

“Get some pizzas,” Bill said. “It’s two hours past my dinnertime. Pizza boppin’!” He rubbed his hands in a familiar mock gesture of glee.

Gertrude sneered at Judith. “How come my squirrel-bait niece married a semisensible man? Why didn’t you do the same?”

Judith ignored her mother. The squash was ruined and so were the potatoes. “It’s a total loss,” she lamented. “I’m so sorry.”

“Cheer up,” Renie said, phone in hand. “I’m calling Punchinello’s. They’re only two blocks away and they owe me. They left off my mushrooms the last time. I’ll get salads, too, and French bread and . . . Hi, I’d like three large pizzas with the works, three with pepperoni, three with Canadian bacon and
mushrooms
—got that?—three with . . .”

“Make mine kosher,” Naomi said, holding up her martini glass.

“Your gin isn’t kosher,” Arlene pointed out. “Or is it?”

“Who cares?” Naomi retorted. “I made a double. Hey, Serena,” she called to Renie, who had just clicked off the phone, “let’s get Carl and Hamish and the Porters and the Ericsons over here and have a real neighborhood party!”

“Don’t forget the Bhatts,” Arlene said. “It can be a housewarming party for them as newcomers, even if it isn’t at their house. But it’s certainly
warm
.”

Judith started to protest but stopped. The evening had already gone as far downhill as it could go—unless Hillside Manor suddenly slid off its moorings and landed at the bottom of Heraldsgate Hill. Murder case be damned—she was retired from sleuthing. It was time to party. “Don’t forget the Dooleys!” she cried. “We can’t leave them out.”

And party they did. But Judith had no inkling that part of the solution to the cold case was in a comment her mother made about the too-hot oven.

Chapter 8

J
udith had no idea how many people had congregated all over the main floor of Hillside Manor that November evening. She counted at least eleven Dooleys, and along with the Bhatts and the rest of the longtime cul-de-sac residents, she estimated at least forty people. Renie had ordered more food and Arlene had pitched in with her usual efficient energy. When the grandfather clock struck the quarter hour before ten, Judith realized she’d better disperse her company before the paying guests returned from their own revels.

It was no wonder that she awoke the next morning with a headache. “Did I really drink that much?” she asked Joe as he came out of the bathroom.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I didn’t notice anybody who was really gassed. But I do need to replenish the liquor cabinet.”

“I guess it was all the noise and so many people at once,” Judith said, getting out of bed. “I’ll admit I’ve never seen Mother dance the polka with Woody. Especially when she stayed in her wheelchair. Or did she?”

“I missed that. I was too caught up watching Bill do his Clint Eastwood imitation while Gabe Porter juggled some of your English bone china on top of the piano.”

“Was that when Corinne Dooley was trying to find one of her grandchildren under the piano?”

“That wasn’t her grandkid,” Joe said, putting on his pants. “That was Mr. Dooley. In all these years, I’ve never known his first name. Does he have one?”

“I guess so,” Judith said vaguely, heading for the bathroom. “He’s always kept a low profile.”

“Maybe that’s why he was under the piano,” Joe suggested.

“Could be.” Judith closed the bathroom door and looked in the mirror. She practically scared herself.
If I didn’t drink too much, I sure
did
something
to look this awful,
she thought.
Maybe I should stick to sleuthing. It’s less stressful.

But after taking two Excedrin, she was feeling somewhat revived by seven o’clock. Joe was already in the kitchen, having offered to make his own version of the original Joe’s Special egg dish for the B&B guests. By the time Judith took breakfast to her mother just before eight, the old lady was all smiles.

“That was some whoop-de-do you had last night,” she said. “Why don’t you do that more often? It’s a good thing I wrecked that bunch of stuff you had in the oven.”

“You practically wrecked the oven,” Judith retorted. “And could’ve burned down the house. We’ve already had one fire here in the past few years. It’s a good thing no serious damage was done.”

Gertrude shrugged. “You got something against having fun?”

Judith didn’t feel like arguing. “It was great to have Woody and Sondra here. Yes, it was good to get together with the neighbors, too. Running an inn makes it hard to entertain anybody but family.”

Gertrude nodded absently while she forked up Joe’s Special. “Mmmm. Not bad. Is this Gloria McDonough’s recipe from the parish cookbook?”

“It’s the one you like so much,” Judith replied. She’d always fibbed about Joe’s recipe, knowing her mother wouldn’t touch anything he’d cooked with a ten-foot two-by-four. “Got to feed the real guests,” she said, and hurried back to the house.

By the time Phyliss Rackley arrived at nine, all of the guests had come down for breakfast. Although Joe, Arlene, and Carl had done an adequate job of helping Judith clean up from the party, the living room and parlor still required more work than usual.

“We had some neighbors in last night,” Judith informed her cleaning woman. “You might want to start in the living room. I wasn’t able to tidy up everything. Some of the neighbors brought their children.”

Phyliss shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Youngsters need to be in a wholesome family get-together now and then. Our new pastor has some kiddies of his own and he often preaches about enclosure.”

“Enclosure?” Judith echoed. “I don’t get it.”

Phyliss looked a trifle perplexed. “Maybe that’s the wrong word. Pastor Smugsworth meant they needed inclusure—to be included in picnics and barbecues and swimming in the lake. But not go off the deep end—of the lake, that is. They can get baptized there, too.”

“Oh. Inclusion. Yes, that’s . . . all good.” Judith nodded once for emphasis.

Phyliss went off on her rounds while Judith checked to make sure her guests were enjoying their breakfast. They were a fairly subdued, almost complacent group, but seemed more than satisfied, especially with Joe’s contribution.

By eleven, they had all dispersed to check out or start their day’s activities. Luckily, none of them were still around when Phyliss stalked into the kitchen with an empty wine bottle and two cigarette butts.

“What kind of debauchery did your neighbors have last night?” she demanded. “This looks like a godless orgy to me! And don’t tell me they’re all some of you wanton Catholics!”

“They’re not,” Judith responded with fervor. “They’re not only
good
Catholics, but equally
good
Lutherans, Methodists, Jews, Presbyterians, and Hindus.”

“An unholy polyglot!” Phyliss cried. “Where were the Muslims and the Buddhists and the Baptists and the dreaded Episcopalians?”

“The dreaded . . . ?” Judith felt her headache coming back. “Never mind,” she said quickly. “Yes, we had some adult beverages and maybe a couple of people smoked cigarettes. Satan, however, was not invited.”

“He might as well have been,” Phyliss grumbled, throwing the offending items into the garbage under the sink before self-righteously heading for the guest rooms.

Ruby came downstairs shortly before noon. “Ohmigod!” she groaned, holding her head. “Did I tie one on last night or what?”

Judith, who was an old hand at calculating when people had drunk too much liquor, smiled. “You had four drinks. I suspect you usually can handle that, but you’ve been on an emotional roller coaster. Your defenses were down last night.”

Ruby’s hand fell away. “I guess. I had some weird dreams, too, but I don’t remember them.” She slumped into a kitchen chair and looked at the schoolhouse clock. “It’s almost lunchtime!”

“You can still have breakfast,” Judith said. “I saved some of Joe’s Special. I’ll warm it up for you. I have to get Mother’s lunch anyway.”

“Where
is
Joe?” Ruby asked.

“He went to the liquor store to replenish our supplies,” Judith replied. “That reminds me—I never did go over Naomi’s statement last night. Joe made a copy for himself. I forgot to ask him why.”

“Does he do insurance investigations?” Ruby asked.

“Yes, fairly often,” Judith replied, putting the last of Joe’s egg dish into the microwave. “Would you like some toast?”

“Sure,” Ruby said. “I can take your mother’s lunch out to her when it’s ready. She was a hoot last night.”

“She can be many things,” Judith murmured. There was no need to inform Ruby that a “hoot” usually wasn’t one of them as far as her daughter was concerned.

While waiting for the toast to pop up, Judith scanned the e-mail printouts from guests. A file folder was under the last two she’d received that morning. She glanced inside to find Joe’s copy of the accident report and Naomi’s statement marked with an FYI Post-it note.

“I didn’t notice this earlier,” she said after removing the egg dish from the microwave and taking out the toast. “I’ll go over it before I start Mother’s lunch.”

Her jaw dropped as she saw the victim’s name:
Bernard Frosch, 31, Caldwell, ID.
“My God!” she cried. “It’s the neighbors’ son!”

“Which neighbor?” Ruby asked.

“The ones in the rental—the only neighbors who weren’t here last night. Not only is the mother in the hospital, but now the son must be there, too. How horrible.” She quickly read through the rest of the information. “He was taken to Norway General with multiple contusions and possible broken bones.”

Ruby leaned forward, staring at the report. “Are you sure it’s the same guy? I thought his first name was something else.”

“It was,” Judith said, turning to Naomi’s statement. “He had an odd name, like . . . I forget. Arlene would know. Whatever it was, it sounded like a nickname.” She summed up the eyewitness information for Ruby. “Male pedestrian crossing Heraldsgate Avenue in legal but unmarked crosswalk. Northbound car on Heraldsgate Avenue suddenly sped up. Dark-color medium sedan, state license plate, not vanity type, but no recollection of numbers or letters. Driver may have been male and alone. After hitting pedestrian, car picked up speed and disappeared after reaching the top of the hill.”

Judith paused, checking out the notes that had apparently been made by Smith or Wesson. “Visibility impaired due to darkness and rainy conditions. Victim wearing dark clothing. No other eyewitness except for above.” There was also a diagram of where the accident had occurred.

“It
could
be an accident,” she said. “People go faster when they get halfway up the hill because the top part isn’t as steep as the bottom. Once they reach the flat, drivers often run the four-way arterial.”

“It’s sure steep,” Ruby said. “I’d never been on what you call the Counterbalance until I came here. There’s a terrific view of the bay from there between the tall buildings.”

Judith nodded. “Some Midwestern visitors are scared to drive on that street. They zigzag all over the place to get to the bottom.”

“Good thing I’m used to living in a mountain town,” Ruby remarked. “Maybe it really was an accident.”

“Maybe.” Judith knew she didn’t sound convincing. “It’s ironic that the son was hit soon after Mrs. Frosch was taken to the hospital. The driver kept going, which is suspicious, though maybe out of shock . . .” A knock on the back door interrupted her. “Who could that be?” she said, getting up. “Family and friends usually just walk in.”

Judith opened the door, saw the dark-haired teenager, and immediately guessed his identity. “You’re Tyler Dooley, right?”

“Yes,” he said. “I missed the party last night. I had choir practice. But I wanted to say hi. Mom told me you didn’t have any mysteries to solve because you’ve retired, but I think I solved one for you anyway.”

“Come in,” Judith said, wishing she hadn’t left the accident report and Naomi’s statement on the kitchen table. “Meet a friend of ours from Little Bavaria, Ruby Tooms. Ruby, this is one of the Dooleys—Tyler.”

Ruby got halfway out of her chair to shake hands. “Hi, Tyler. I met some of your family last night. Quite a crew, enough for a football team.”

Tyler grinned. “We could fill a small stadium.” His gaze traveled to the paperwork on the table. “You reviewing some old cases, Mrs. Flynn?”

“Ah—no, Mrs. Stein witnessed an accident on the Avenue last night,” Judith replied. “Did you hear the sirens?”

Tyler shook his head. “Darn—I missed that. I hear them fairly often around here.” The comment was made matter-of-factly. “Any injuries?”

If Judith wasn’t candid, she knew Arlene would get the word out soon enough. “Here,” she said, handing over both sheets of paper. “Have a seat. But first, what’s the mystery you solved?”

“I know who put that purse in our garbage can,” Tyler said, looking at Ruby. “It belongs to you, right? Mom met you last night and your name’s on the driver’s license. It was the lady who lives in the house next to the Ericsons.”

“Mrs. Frosch?” Judith said in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“Because,” Tyler said, very seriously, “when I left for band practice that night, I saw her driving by in the Ford Explorer with Idaho plates parked at their house.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I like to observe stuff. A lady was driving and I saw the Explorer when I delivered the newspapers the next morning. A piece of my sheet music was stuck to a tire. I must’ve dropped it after I left home because I didn’t have it when I got to practice. It couldn’t have gone further than the curb. The wind had died down, though it was still raining. I figured she must’ve pulled over and stopped after I kept walking.”

Judith was impressed, despite having a quibble. “You’re sure it was Mrs. Frosch? She was the one who had to be taken to the hospital.”

Tyler grimaced. “Could I pick her out of a lineup? No. It was too dark.”

“The Explorer belongs to the Frosches’ son,” Judith said. “It might have been his wife or girlfriend visiting from Idaho. The son was the one who got hit by a car last night.”

“Whoa!” Tyler cried. “They’re in a world of hurt. What’s with them?”

“Maybe nothing except bad luck,” Judith said. “But I wonder how one of them got hold of Ruby’s purse in the first place.”

Ruby lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “Don’t ask me. I never heard of anybody by that name. Is there any way we can find out?”

Judith fingered her chin. “Well . . . there may be. Let me think on it.”

Tyler’s expression was eager. “Should I do surveillance on their house? That telescope my brothers used is still in place.”

“Go ahead,” Judith replied. “You might see . . . something.”

Tyler saluted. “Keep me posted. I have to walk my dog, Barkley, now that it’s stopped raining. If you see me with him in the cul-de-sac, pretend you don’t know me. I should probably keep a low profile, right?”

“First, you should be careful,” Judith warned. “As for your low profile, you
are
the neighborhood paper boy.”

“Right,” Tyler said, heading for the door, “but how many people notice me that early in the morning? That means I’m sort of anonymous. I think of myself as a kind of phantom.”

Judith laughed. “I’ve only seen you once or twice. Thanks, Tyler.”

“I’ve just begun to sleuth,” he said over his shoulder before heading out the back door.

Ruby had finished eating and stood up. “Is he reliable?”

“The other Dooley boys certainly were,” Judith replied, taking out a loaf of bread to make Gertrude’s sandwich. “Tyler seems bright, just like most of his family. But I doubt it was Mrs. Frosch driving the Explorer. She may’ve already been ill. More likely, it was the younger woman.”