Just Desserts : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery (22 page)

We’re stuck with the Brodies. They can’t go home until one of them is charged with the crime. Or else they’re all cleared.

Joe says—”

Gertrude whirled around with amazing sprightliness, walker and all. “Joe! I know what that wolf in sheep’s clothing says! Worse yet, I know what his kind
does!
And I thought you had more sense! Hussy!” Her face had gone quite pale, and a pulse throbbed along her jawline. Judith was more flabbergasted than angered. But Gertrude was banging away at the walker, moving with stiff-backed determination toward the sofa.

“Wait a minute, Mother,” Judith pleaded. “I’ve lived like a nun since Dan died and you know it.” She caught Carl and even Lester watching with interest; Arlene’s red-gold head poked out from the door to the adjoining dining room.

“Some nun!” Gertrude sank down onto the sofa like a parachute crumpling to the ground. “Don’t try to fool me, Judith Anne! I saw you two on that bed! It’s a wonder I didn’t have a stroke!” She grabbed at her chest as if to make sure her heart was still pumping.

“You
what?
” Judith was aghast. She spared not a glance for the rest of her audience. “How could you see such a thing?” The question was literal as well as figurative: Hillside Manor and the Rankers’s house were close enough for window peeking, but the snow would have obscured Gertrude’s vision. “Well?” demanded Judith, seeing her mother’s set expression.

“I got two eyes, don’t I?” Gertrude looked smug as well as outraged. “We borrowed Dooley’s telescope. It’s real powerful, even with the snow coming down. Arlene got it for me. She thought it might help me keep track of what was going on in my own house.” Gertrude glanced
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out into the dining room where Arlene still lingered at the door. “
Some
people still care about old folks.”

Judith put a hand to her head. What to pursue? It was a toss-up between her mother’s ridiculous accusations and Arlene’s blatant prying. “Telescope or not, you didn’t see anything I wouldn’t do in the front yard.”

Gertrude snorted and turned up her nose. “Not in
my
front yard!”

Judith was weary of reminding her mother that, legally, Hillside Manor was not her domain. It was clearly time to throw in the towel. “Oh, never mind!” The liquor bottles clanked together as she rose. “I have to get back. Thanks so much,” she said with a ragged smile for Carl. “Enjoy your dinner,” she added to Lester. But he was snoring softly, splayed feet halfway across the carpet.

On the way out through the kitchen, she gave Arlene a frazzled shake of her head. “Mother gets notions. Ignore them.”

“Well, of course she does!” Arlene beamed at Judith. “The main thing is, she cares about you so much. Isn’t she a treasure?”

“If she were, I’d bury her,” muttered Judith.

“Now, now,” cooed Arlene, “she just enjoys fussing over you. Oh!” She stopped, blue eyes dancing. “I almost forgot, I must give you back those clippings.”

“Clippings?” Judith blinked.

“Yes, the ones I took off your bed this morning when I came over to get that tartan housecoat. Your mother said the one you sent had too many cigarette burns in it. She wanted her blue sweater, too, and I didn’t see you around anywhere, so I just used her keys and—oh! Here they are, I put them in this book by Guinevere Arthur so I wouldn’t forget. Association, you know.” Still smiling, Arlene handed over the purloined clippings, sticking them in the front pocket of Judith’s jacket. “What do you think? The man with amnesia ran over that doctor and forgot he did it?”

To Judith, it was one theory that didn’t bear even fleeting consideration. But she was too overwhelmed by Ar-164 / Mary Daheim

lene’s audacity to pursue the skewed hypothesis. “Arlene—did you tell anyone about those clippings?”

Arlene took on an injured air. “Why, no! I haven’t seen anybody, not with this cold weather. Oh, I spoke to Mrs.

Dooley when I borrowed the telescope, and I saw Gabe Porter across the street putting on his snow tires, and I guess I mentioned the clippings to one of those reporters. Such an earnest young man, probably just starting out. It’s nice to help people make their way in the world, don’t you think?”

Judith emitted a noise that was akin to a whimper, though the truth was, no harm had been done as far as the murder investigation was concerned. The newscast Renie heard hadn’t mentioned what was in the clippings, no doubt because the radio station couldn’t make head or tails out of Arlene’s fragmentary information. Still, Judith was miffed.

“Why did you take the clippings?” she asked, wanting to hear how Arlene would circumvent the truth.

The blue eyes shimmered with the hint of tears. “For your mother, of course. She’s over here stewing and fretting so.

When I went to look for you in your bedroom, I saw them on the bed, and naturally I assumed they were your own mementos. I know how old people love to reminisce and I knew you wouldn’t be having any spare time to look at them, so I brought them over here. Then I realized they had something to do with the murder. So I thought she and I could play detective when we got tired of cribbage. It perked her up,” Arlene asserted with a compassionate little smile.

“I see.” The convoluted explanation wasn’t vintage Arlene, but it wasn’t bad, either. Judith decided to let the matter drop. Except for Arlene’s inquisitiveness and the occasional brawl, the Rankers had been steadfast neighbors and loyal friends for over twenty years. And, Judith realized, she herself had stolen the clippings first.

“That’s one of Gwen’s books?” Judith asked, pointing to the gaudy paperback. “Do you read them?”

Arlene’s embarrassment was halfhearted. “She’s really pretty good. As a writer, I mean. I was hoping I’d get to
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meet her, but I thought I’d wait and see if she killed that Wanda woman.” She lifted a shoulder. “You know, it would make a difference in my opinion of her—and her novels.”

Judith juggled the liquor bottles and picked up the paperback. “
Chastity’s Belt Buckle
. Where do they get these titles?”

Awkwardly, she flipped through the pages with one hand.

“Hunh. It’s set during the Civil War, among the North Carolina pro-Union insurgents. That sounds a bit deep for Gwen.”

“Oh, no,” insisted Arlene. “Chastity is a Confederate spy.

She carries secrets inside the fake jewel on the belt of her riding habit. But of course she falls in love with one of the insurgents. All of Guinevere’s books are based on real history.

She’s done the Hussite revolt, the Jesuits under Elizabeth I, the Wat Tyler rebellion—and then there are her contemporaries where she deals with real problems and issues, like epilepsy and the new poor.”

Judith didn’t try to conceal her astonishment. To com-pound matters, a cursory look indicated that Gwen actually used subjects and predicates and even displayed a certain amount of style.

“There’s romance, of course,” admitted Arlene. “And sex, to make the books sell, I suppose. Though the manager down at the bookstore at the bottom of the Hill told me she doesn’t make a lot of money. She writes over a lot of readers’ heads.”

Including Gwen’s own, thought Judith, and immediately recognized the unfairness of her reaction. “Can I borrow this?” asked Judith.

“Sure, I finished it last week. I’ve got some more, out in the bookcase.”

“That’s fine,” said Judith, already wondering if she’d make it home with her load of bottles and
Chastity’s Belt Buckle
.

“I just want a sample. For now.”

“Enjoy it.” Arlene had gone to open the door for Judith.

“My favorite is the Jesuit one,
Love’s Prelate
. I think I lent it to Jeanne Ericson, but she never gave it back.”

Judith made an appropriate remark, thanked Arlene for
166 / Mary Daheim

everything, and began her cautious route back home. The snow was still coming down and the wind now howled between the houses. The garage and the toolshed at the back of the yard were all but obscured. Her foot slipped once, but she righted herself and had almost reached the back porch when a blurred figure streaked by, striking her left leg. Judith staggered and fell, clutching the liquor bottles against her down jacket.

“Sweetums, you wretch!” she shrieked, rolling onto the back steps in a manner not unlike a large padded pin-wheel.

The bottles were intact, Gwen’s novel somehow wedged between them. At the door, Sweetums was clawing like mad, swinging back and forth on the screen.

Swearing under her breath, Judith crawled up the steps, set her burden down on the porch, and struggled to her feet.

Her shins hurt, her shoulder felt jarred, and her teeth ached.

But pain gave way to anger. Grabbing an old mop stick that probably dated from Grandma Grover’s era, Judith took a swing at Sweetums. She missed, but the cat let out a menacing hiss, plopped onto the mat, and arched his back at Judith before taking off at a speed that tempted to break the sound barrier.

“Cat soup, cat stew, cat casserole, cat crepes,” muttered Judith, tossing aside the mop stick and retrieving her belongings. “I’ll kill that animal some day, I swear it!” Still muttering, she opened the door and stamped her way into the little back entry hall. Before she could blink against the bright lights of the kitchen, Sweetums raced past her, headed for the dining room.

“That poor cat,” said Renie, calmly grinding pepper onto the raw steaks that she’d laid out on the counter. “How can you stand keeping him outside in weather like this?” Renie looked up from her culinary pursuit. “Gee, you look terrible!

Did Lester chase you around the Rankers’s living room?”

“Lester’s unconscious.” Judith started opening the liquor bottles even before she removed her jacket. “Go offer some
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of this to four so-called guests. If they don’t want it—ha, ha—then pour it on Sweetums and I’ll bring a match.”

“That nap didn’t put you in a very good mood,” Renie said with a touch of reprimand. “Or was it my intrusion?”

Judith was stuffing
Chastity’s Belt Buckle
and its contents inside her sweater. “Skip it. I fell up the back steps. I also forgot the chives. Where’s Joe?”

Renie was putting the bottles on a tray along with a bucket of ice and some glasses. “He’s in the front parlor with Woody. We made mulled wine while we were waiting for you. What was going on over there? Your mother giving you a bad time?”

“
My
mother?” Judith looked at Renie in mock horror.

“She’s at the Rankers’s, knitting me a fleecy shawl and crooning over my baby pictures.”

Renie arched her eyebrows. “Huh? Oh!” she said suddenly,

“Falstaff’s Market called while you were out and asked if you still wanted that roasting chicken for Sunday dinner. If so, will you pick it up or should they put it on a toboggan?”

“Drat, I forgot all about it. I asked Uncle Vince and Auntie Vance to eat with us. Maybe I should cancel. If it keeps snowing, they’ll never get up the Hill anyway.” She reached for the phone and started to tap out Falstaff’s number, but heard Mavis’s voice on the line.

“…ratings war with KWIP,” Mavis was saying in her incisive manner. Business as usual, thought Judith, and started to hang up, but caught a snatch of another woman’s voice at the other end of the line:

“…don’t need a murder on top of that.” Judith stood motionless, gesturing for Renie to keep quiet. The unknown woman was using well-modulated tones which suggested she, too, might be part of the electronic media. “I still don’t see why you didn’t tell Lance the truth back then.”

“He didn’t need to know,” Mavis said flatly. “Lance knows so little to begin with.”

“But his own sister!” The second speaker sounded gen-168 / Mary Daheim

uinely appalled. Judith waved Renie to join her at the earpiece. “Mavis, sometimes you’re
too
tough.”

“I have to be tough, Kim, for both of us,” Mavis said grimly.

“I suppose,” Kim replied in resignation. “At least Wanda had a blameless reputation, except for those two disastrous marriages.”

“Anybody can make a couple of mistakes,” Mavis allowed, sounding unusually charitable. “You’re absolutely certain she was still seeing Rico or Dash or whatever he calls himself as recently as last summer?”

Judith and Renie were literally head-to-head, both of their faces screwed up in concentration. “My hospital contact is unimpeachable,” insisted Kim. “Didn’t I get my start as a medical and science reporter?”

“Okay. Thanks, Kim. Good luck on the new talk show.”

Mavis sounded faintly weary.

“Thanks. Good luck with…everything.” There was a pause at the other end. “Lance wouldn’t do anything
dumb
, would he?”

Mavis actually laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “I told you, he didn’t know anything.”

There was another pause. “No. Of course he didn’t. I keep forgetting how dense Lance is.”

“Don’t forget,” said Mavis in a warning voice. “Especially if you’re ever asked to be a character witness. Remember, my husband is as dumb as a rope,” Mavis declared, and hung up.

Judith waited a few seconds, then did the same. The cousins eyed each other. Judith spoke first: “Well. So Mavis guessed.”

“That Wanda and Lance were related?” Renie wrinkled her pug nose. “She may have known about Otto for years.

She’s very shrewd, I’ll give her that. It would have been easy for her in her capacity as a reporter to check the records in L.A.”

“If Wanda noticed a resemblance between her own eyes and Lance’s, then maybe Mavis did, too.” Seeing Renie’s
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blank look, Judith explained what Lester had told her within the hour. “Ordinarily, I suppose a patient’s spouse wouldn’t come into contact with an O.R. nurse. But Mavis is the type who’d grill any member of the staff she could get her paws on. Still, if she didn’t tell Lance, would she confide in any other members of the family? Mavis isn’t exactly buddy-buddy with her in-laws.” Judith headed for the hallway to hang up her jacket, pausing to glance outside at the swirling snow. Movement at the edge of her vision caught her attention. There, on the porch that ran the width of the house, stood Mavis and Gwen, their attitude one of conspiracy. Judith took a deep breath and tiptoed back into the kitchen.