Major Vices (17 page)

“Have you and Trixie set a date?” she asked, getting off the unhappy subject of the smashed Lexus.

He gave another laborious nod. “June. Trixie always gets married in June.”

“So she does.” Dimly, Judith recalled the first wedding, in a fashionable suburban church. Number Two had been held in the ballroom of a lakeside hotel. The third time around, the nuptials had taken place on the stage of Rafe Longrod's downtown movie house. Judith wondered if Trixie and Mason planned to be married inside a concrete mixer, but she had the good taste not to ask.

Zoe reappeared, vacuum cleaner at the ready. Mason caught sight of the appliance and winced. “Oh, no! Do you have to turn that on? I have a concussion!”

The maid gave an indifferent shrug. “Then plug your ears. You've got enough gauze and stuff taped to your head anyway. How can you hear?” Curious, she approached the sofa and inspected Mason more closely. “You should have some of those dressings changed, if you ask me. Where's your ever-loving fiancée? She ought to be taking care of you.”

Mason seemed moved by Zoe's show of concern. Or, thought Judith, he was not immune to her considerable charms. The masses of auburn hair were caught up with a pair of copper clips; the blue jeans were snug at the hips and cinched in at the waist; a sea-green shirt set off her eyes, which shone like green gold in the wan winter light.

“I scraped my arm,” he said in a pitiful voice. “The one I didn't break, I mean.”

Dispassionately, Zoe examined the bandages. Judith noted that the maid was right—not only was the gauze loose, but it was soiled with dried blood.

Zoe abandoned the vacuum cleaner. “I'll go downstairs and get the first-aid kit. If your future bride can't bring herself to fix you up, I will. I'm used to it. Dad's always wrecking himself.”

She had just left when Jill sauntered into the living room. She nodded at Judith and Mason, then sat down at the piano bench and began to play “Jailhouse Rock.” Judith wasn't sure whether or not she imagined that Mason winced again.

“Blast!” Jill exclaimed, breaking off in mid-bar. “This thing is so off-key it drives me nuts!” Getting up from the bench, she stalked to the front window. “When will they all leave?” she muttered, more to herself than to Judith and Mason.

Judith pounced on the cue. “
You're
not leaving?”

Deliberately, Jill turned to look at her. “No. I didn't intend to leave in the first place.”

Deserting her perch on the sofa's arm, Judith went over to where Jill was standing. “I didn't think you did.” She gestured at Jill's attire. “You brought a change of clothes. Several, in fact.”

Indignation was quickly supplanted by defensiveness. “So?” Jill's perfect features hardened. “Why shouldn't I? Boo was all alone here. I'm almost twenty-one. Why should I go on living at home, listening to my father give me orders and having my mother fuss over me all the time? I want to be independent.”

Judith kept her response reasonable. “Did Boo like the idea of having you move in?”

“Of course he did!” Jill had raised her voice, all but shouting. “He was lonely, I tell you! He loved having me around! I put new life into this place! It's been a tomb since Aunt Rosie died!”

Surprised by Jill's vehemence, Judith noted that Mason also seemed to be regarding the young woman with a cer
tain amount of puzzlement. At least he had turned his head a jot, and his eyes veered in Jill's direction.

“Actually,” Judith said in a measured tone, “it wouldn't have been a bad idea. What did your parents think about it?”

Jill sniffed and tossed her head. “I hadn't told them. We…I didn't want to cause a row on Boo's birthday.” She had lowered her voice and was looking sulky. Fleetingly, Judith glimpsed the vulnerable young girl she remembered from long-ago family gatherings.

At that moment Zoe returned with a first-aid kit large enough to cure an industrial complex. “It would be better,” she asserted, opening the double locks on the steel case, “if we did this upstairs. The living room isn't exactly the place for medical treatment.”

“It's just my arm,” Mason said with a note of panic. “The rest of me is fine.”

“The rest of you is a mess,” Zoe declared, sorting antiseptic pads, tape, gauze, cotton, and a pair of small scissors. “If the dressing on your good arm is this bad, I can imagine what the bandages on your body are like.” She glanced up at Judith and Jill. “Do I have a volunteer?”

Judith hesitated; Jill floundered. They were rescued by Renie, who bounded into the room glaring at her cousin.

“Where've you been? The ice cream has pecans. I can't eat nuts.” She saw Zoe ministering to Mason. “Hey, what's going on? Brain surgery in the privacy of your living room?”

But Mason was rebelling. “Don't touch me! Never mind my arm! Go away, or I'll sue! Help!” His good leg kicked at the afghan someone had thrown over his recumbent form.

Zoe jumped to her feet. “Well, phooey on you! I thought you wanted me to help! Screw it!” She tossed the medical supplies back in the steel case, slammed it shut, and stomped from the room. Mason fainted.

Judith hoped it was from relief.

And then she wondered why.

M
RS
. W
AKEFIELD WAS
threatening to quit. “Over twenty years we've worked for Boo Major—and Mrs. Major, too, which wasn't always easy—and now this!” Wildly, she waved her hands, indicating the entire ménage that inhabited Major Manor. “Murder, mayhem, robbery, rivalry, wills, and more wills! And worst of all, that big dumb cop who thinks Weed is a killer! If ever there was a man less likely to do somebody in—except by accident, and that would be himself—I can't imagine! It's just plain loony!”

Judith and Renie had pitched in to help Mrs. Wakefield clean up from lunch. It was, they figured, the least they could do, since the housekeeper and her daughter had helped them with the party the previous evening.

“You might want to wait until after the funeral,” Judith said mildly. “I mean, I can't blame you, really, but you'll draw your wages and somebody will have to be in charge.”

Mrs. Wakefield shook her head in disgust. “The funeral! Who's bothering with
that?
Now that old Boo is dead, none of these creeps care about burying him.”

Renie was scouring the sauce kettle. “That's not
true,” she noted. “I heard Derek and Aunt Toadie arguing at lunch over who would make the arrangements.”

If Mrs. Wakefield was at all mollified, she gave no sign. “Argue, argue, argue—that's all they do,” she grumbled. “Now we're stuck with a bunged-up medical disaster. And you know what else?” She waved a cooking spoon at the cousins. “Even if the ice melts, none of them will leave. It's like—what do you call it?—squatters' rights. They'll all stay put, waiting for the lawyers to sort it out.”

As far as Judith was concerned, the housekeeper had a point. “
We
won't stay,” she said, glancing out the window at the thermometer. It seemed stuck at just under thirty degrees. “Say, where is Weed? I haven't seen him since they let him go stoke the furnace or whatever.”

Mrs. Wakefield switched on the dishwasher. Over the roar of rushing water, she informed the cousins that her husband was still under house arrest. “He's in the basement with one of those wimpy cops who spend all their time watching for shoplifters at Green Apple Grocery. Zoe just fixed her father some smoked salmon for lunch.”

Renie rolled her eyes. “Smoked what?” she murmured.

Even with the dishwasher gushing, Mrs. Wakefield caught Renie's remark. “So what? He's under stress. You'd be, too, if those dopey cops thought you'd shot Boo Major.”

Judith decided it was time to change the subject. “Say, Mrs. Wakefield, do you think it's possible those jewels were taken before last night? Did anybody ever check that safe?”

The housekeeper paused in her task of wiping down the counters. “No. I mean, old Boo was the only one who knew the combination. As far as I know, those jewels were all he kept in there. Everything else is in a safety deposit box at the bank.”

“Everything else?” Judith arched her dark brows.

The dishwasher went into a quiet mode. The housekeeper looked momentarily puzzled. “Well…insurance policies, deeds to the house and the cars, stocks, bonds, CDs, whatever he had of importance. He never touched the stuff. Whenever something came in the mail—you
know, like a dividend or whatever rich people get—he had Weed drive him to the bank.”

Judith rubbed at her chin. “Yet he kept his wills here. Odd.”

Mrs. Wakefield snorted. “At the rate he was making 'em, Weed'd run out of gas hauling the old boy back and forth. It wouldn't surprise me if two or three more turned up.”

The comment didn't strike Judith as incredible. She was about to say as much when Zoe came up from the basement. In one hand she held a luncheon plate; in the other, a key ring.

“Look! I found these in the downstairs stove when I started cleaning up the beets!”

The cousins stared; so did Mrs. Wakefield. “Well, I'll be!” exclaimed the housekeeper. “How'd they get there?”

Zoe shrugged in her languid manner. “Who knows? Dad, maybe. You know how he likes to light up off the stove burners.”

Mrs. Wakefield sighed. “At least we got 'em back. Hang 'em on that peg by the back door where they belong.”

Zoe complied but almost dropped the ring when Buck Doerflinger burst into the kitchen. “What's going on around here?” he roared. “We used the squad car to report the phones being out of order, and they told us it was an on-site problem. I'll be damned if they're not right—somebody cut the wires!”

 

Residents of The Bluff didn't have to endure unsightly utility poles. The streets were lined with tasteful lampposts, but the wires which led into the immaculately maintained homes were buried underground. According to Buck Doerflinger, someone had opened the terminal box, located on the side of the house by the back porch, and cut the phone cable.

“Now, why the hell would anybody do that,” Buck demanded, pounding on a cupboard door, “
after
we got here?”

Judith considered the question. “You mean you can see
why the killer—let's say that's who cut the wires—might have done it before the police could be called?” She nodded. “Yes, that would make sense. But afterward? I agree, it's baffling.”

“Baffling!” Buck paced around the kitchen, his long arms striking a canister here, a teapot there. He seemed not to notice. “I'll say it's baffling! What's the point, especially since we can still communicate on our radios?”

Glancing at her watch, Judith noted that it was almost 1
P
.
M
“My cousin and I tried to call out around nine-fifteen,” she said in an attempt to be helpful. “As far as I know, we were the first ones to notice that the phones weren't working.”

Buck paused in his pacing to look at Judith with tepid interest. “That right?” he grunted. “What about the rest of them?”

Mrs. Wakefield rescued a tall glass from his path. “There were some calls from the TV and newspapers real early, but I hung up on 'em. Snoops, as far as I'm concerned.” She glanced at Zoe. “You use the phone this morning?”

But Zoe hadn't. Renie, however, had. Finally noticing the cream-sauce stain on her sweatshirt, she was trying to eradicate it with a damp dishrag. “I must have finished with the calls around eight-thirty. My breakfast was cold when I came back.” She was still smarting from the interruption.

A sudden flash of recollection struck Judith. “Trixie talked to Bayview Hospital this morning. That might have been a few minutes later. We met her coming downstairs.”

Buck scowled. “That narrows it to a thirty-minute time frame, more or less.” He turned a glowering face to Mrs. Wakefield. “The evidence against your old man is mounting.”

“Are you nuts?” the housekeeper flared. “What're you talking about?”

With a sneer, Doerflinger picked up the coffeepot that was sitting on the stove. He shook it; it was empty. His sneer became menacing. “Who else would know where the terminal box was located? Who else would even know
there
was
a terminal box? Most people have phone poles and lines and all that real utility stuff.”

For once, Mrs. Wakefield seemed shaken. Even Zoe had lost her languid air. Renie, however, came to their aid.

“As a matter of fact,” she said in a clear but firm voice, “the suburb where the Rushes and Aunt Toadie and Trixie live has underground wiring. It's a newer area, you know, and most of the subdivisions were built with buried cable.”

“Well!” Buck turned on her with mock awe. “And how come you know so much about public utilities, lady?”

“Lady
Jones
,” Renie shot back, her voice not only clear and firm, but also loud. “I know because I've been there. I also know because I'm a graphic designer and I've worked on a zillion public utility projects—phone, light, gas, the works. They love to rave to their shareowners about how they've beautified the world. Got it?”

The detective smirked and rubbed his hands together. “Then
you'd
know about the terminal box, wouldn't you?”

Renie lost some of her steam. “I should. But I never thought about it. Hunh.” She seemed disappointed by the lapse in her powers of observation.

So you say.” Buck's voice was full of sarcasm.

Judith felt that the discussion was going nowhere. She couldn't quite see how the severed wires fitted into the murder case. Arguing over who knew how to cut off the phones seemed unproductive, at least for the time being. She intervened by posing a question:

“Is an autopsy being performed on Mr. Major?” she asked.

“Well, sure!” Buck's expression indicated that he thought Judith was incredibly naive or extremely ignorant. “It's automatic with a homicide. This case calls for a medical-legal autopsy, since we know the guy got shot. What we're looking for here is what kind of weapon, caliber of bullet, distance—all that technical stuff you lay-people don't understand, but think you do because you watch TV. By the time we get done, we'll have plenty more evidence to land a conviction.” He gave Mrs. Wakefield an insinuating look.

To save another explosion from the housekeeper, Judith responded quickly. “How soon will you have the report?”

Buck's face wore a patronizing air. “Soon enough. I've got Chao sitting in the squad car, waiting to hear.”

Judith's attitude was one of polite inquiry. “And the weapon? Was it ever found?”

The patronizing manner fled. Buck's eyes narrowed at Judith. He brushed impatiently at his rumpled white suit. “No. We're still looking, you can bet your butt on that. But it's a big house, lots of grounds,” he rattled on hurriedly, a note of defensiveness showing through. “If we had more manpower…”

Officer Chao entered the kitchen, holding his regulation cap in his hands. He addressed his superior. “Sir, you're wanted on the radio.”

Buck grabbed the radio from his belt and rushed off to seek some privacy. Renie gave up trying to clean her sweatshirt. “I wonder,” she mused, “why Buck doesn't have a cellular phone. Joe has one, doesn't he?”

“He does not,” Judith replied pointedly. “If he did, he'd have to pay for it. The city hasn't gotten up to speed on communications technology. It's not in the budget.”

Zoe had still not resumed her air of languor. She seemed on edge, which was understandable, given her father's status under house arrest. “Some city employees are on the take. They've got the latest-model cars and everything. Maybe we should offer these cops a bribe and they'll let Dad go.”

“Hey,” Mrs. Wakefield barked, “knock it off! We got enough trouble already without you getting weird ideas! Your father'll get out of this just fine. That Doerflinger doesn't know his butt from a hole in the ground.”

Zoe's gaze was dubious, but she didn't argue. Instead, she removed one of the copper clips from her hair, and gave a languid shrug before heading back to the basement. Having completed their cleanup tasks, Judith and Renie excused themselves and went into the hall.

“Is this a stakeout?” Renie asked in a low voice.

Judith nodded. “I want to hear what Buck has to say about the autopsy.”

“Will he tell you?”

“He will if I act dumb enough. And simper a lot. His ego is one of his worst enemies. Alas, Joe is another of them.” Judith glanced into the living room. Toadie and Trixie had joined Mason Meade at his bed of pain. The four Rushes were nowhere to be seen. Judith wondered if they'd gone outside to get some fresh air.

Buck burst through the double doors with Officers Chao and Rigby at his heels. Renie whispered that she was discreetly withdrawing in order to give Judith the opportunity to tackle Buck alone.

But the three policemen breezed right past Judith and went into the den. The door was shut firmly behind them. Judith waited a full five minutes, but nobody came out. Just as she was about to give up, Aunt Toadie emerged from the living room.

If Aunt Toadie had any good qualities, among them was numbered the capacity to forget an exchange of harsh words—at least temporarily. Judith's theory was that Toadie's quarreling bordered on addiction. And, like a heavy drinker, Toadie understood that she could go only so far without letting her quarrelsome nature interfere with her life. Being self-serving, she could pretend that the fracas had never occurred, or that if it had, it was over. She was forgiven, if not forgiving. Thus, Judith allowed Toadie to approach her, and was not surprised to see a smile on her lips.

“Trixie's taking such good care of Mason,” Toadie declared in her customary gushing manner. “Isn't it wonderful to see two people so much in love?”

Judith refrained from saying that it wasn't wonderful to see one person so much in love so often. “I understand they plan a June wedding,” she said noncommittally.

“Yes,” Toadie agreed, “in Judge Burbage's chambers. We'll have the reception here, of course.”

Judith gaped. “Here?”

Toadie was unfazed by Judith's reaction. “Of course. Boo had already agreed to that, and just because he's dead, there's no reason to change things.” She finally took in Judith's astonishment, and her smile tightened. “By June, all
this ridiculous inheritance mess will be cleared up. The renovations will be finished, and after the wedding we can put Major Manor on the market. What do you think?” she asked, not so much of Judith as of the house itself. “One-point-six, I should guess.”

Judith gasped. Yet she knew Toadie wasn't off by much. The house, the grounds, the neighborhood itself, would command at least a million dollars. And if the kitchen and baths were updated, along with the masonry work and possibly a new roof, another half million could easily be added to the asking price.

Deciding to use the house as the starting point for a bit of probing, Judith explained how she and Renie had come across the shoebox with its collection of family pictures. “We found several shots of the house when it was being built,” she said. “We also saw some snapshots of Boo's brother, Rube. Vivvie mentioned that you had met him, maybe at Rosie and Boo's wedding.”