Major Vices (25 page)

“You're Reuben Major's daughter,” she said in a quiet tone. “I'm guessing that Boo—and Rosie—hired you and Weed as a favor to Rube. Old Dunlop had cut Rube out of his will, not because he was a German sympathizer—far from it; he was an American hero—but simply out of sheer pigheadedness. Dunlop might have understood your father's wanderlust—he should have, since he had some of it himself—but he couldn't forgive him for cutting loose from the family. Dunlop dies, so does Rube, and somewhere in there, you show up on Boo's doorstep with a small child. Say what you will about both him and Aunt Rosie, they were good-hearted. No doubt you were down on your luck due to Weed's politics and pot, which, given the late sixties, were often one and the same. Boo and Rosie take you in, give you jobs and a home. The debt is paid. Which,” Judith continued, straining to hear any sound that would signal Joe's arrival, “is why that last will is all wrong.”

Mrs. Wakefield blinked, but her eyes didn't leave Judith's face. “What will?”

Judith was growing uneasy. How long did it take to cover the distance from the street to the house? “The one in the Shakespeare book. The forged will, with the masons' signatures. What did you tell them they were signing—a time sheet for their severance pay?” Noting the startled expression on Ruth Wakefield's face, Judith knew she'd guessed right. “For once, Toadie told the truth. She really didn't fire the masons—
you
did. And you shot that poor building inspector, too.”

The housekeeper took two steps forward, brandishing the knife. “Aren't you the clever one! It's a good thing the cops hire dopes like that Doerflinger instead of people like you! But if you think you're going to blab all this and get me arrested, you're as crazy as the rest of them!”

The knock sounded at the kitchen door. Judith's eyes darted in that direction. Joe Flynn's outline could be seen through the frosted glass.

“It's the police,” Judith said through taut lips. “You'd better let him—them—in.”

The slip proved costly. Mrs. Wakefield grabbed Judith, twisting an arm behind her. “March! I can handle one cop just fine! Open that door, and if you do anything stupid, I'll slice you like that turkey roll!”

Starting to tremble, Judith obeyed. She flung open the door. Joe Flynn was smoothing his red hair and his round face was smiling. His hand dropped and his smile died when he saw the knife against Judith's throat.

“Get in here,” ordered Mrs. Wakefield. “Close the door.”

Wordlessly, Joe did as he was bidden. His green eyes flashed as he quickly surveyed the kitchen. Judith knew he was assessing their chances. She wondered if he'd called for backup. Probably not, since he couldn't be sure why Judith had summoned him to Major Manor.

“Interesting,” he said at last, leaning lightly against the kitchen counter. “One knife, two victims. How does that work?”

Judith couldn't see Mrs. Wakefield's face, but she could hear the grim humor in her voice. “Easy. I've got another gun stashed in the drawer next to the flour bin. Mrs. Flynn
and I are going to mosey over there and get it. Any false moves from you and she gets blood all over my nice, clean floor.”

“I don't suppose,” Joe said, his mellow voice deceptively lazy, “anyone would care to tell me what's going on here. I understood an arrest had already been made.”

It wasn't easy for Judith to talk with the knife pressed against her throat. She was sure that if she moved at all, the blade would cut into her flesh. “Buck,” she said in a strangled voice. “He was wrong.”

“What else is new?” Joe's eyes were now riveted on the hand that held the knife. “Who are you? It's always nice to know your local homicidal maniac.”

“Funny man,” Mrs. Wakefield sneered, nudging Judith in the direction of the cupboards. “If you're a cop, you can figure it out.
She
did.” The housekeeper gave Judith's arm a little twist; then she let go to reach for the drawer handle.

If Judith had thought the moment's distraction would give Joe his chance, she was wrong. The housekeeper didn't miss a beat. The knife never wavered. Deftly, Mrs. Wakefield pulled the gun out from under a pile of twine, aluminum foil, and used paper bags.

“It's loaded, in case you're wondering,” she said, flipping the knife into the sink. “Move it!” Giving Judith a sharp shove, she propelled her toward Joe. “You City Hall types sure are a pain,” she said with a nasty chuckle. “All my plans almost undone by that snooping building inspector! I couldn't believe it when he told me there were loose bricks in the den wall. As if I didn't know! He insisted it was shoddy workmanship. I was tempted to let him go on thinking that, until he started filling out a stupid report.”

Judith was rubbing her sore arm. “You must have had to act fast,” she said, her voice breathless. “How did you manage to shoot him and not have somebody see or hear it?”

Mrs. Wakefield snorted. “I asked him to come have a look at the bricks down by the pond to see if they could be used on the house. Quality control, I called it. Meantime, I'd gotten the Walther out. Weed was puffing away,
Zoe was running the vacuum, and old Boo—what else? He was asleep. The masons were on their lunch break. I shot the guy and pushed him in the pond; then I took his keys and drove the city car down the street a couple of blocks. In this neighborhood nobody ever comes outside this time of year, and the rest of 'em are out of town, chasing the sun. I figured I'd get rid of the guy later, after everything quieted down.”

“Everything, including the surprise revelation about the latest will?” Judith asked, amazed that her voice didn't come out in a squeak.

Mrs. Wakefield nodded, a cunning smile playing at her lips. “As will happen, excuse the pun. It could take weeks, even months—what difference does it make? I'll still get it all, except for that measly million that goes to Jill.”

“And you'd let your husband pay for your crimes?” Joe's career in law enforcement had made him cynical, but nonetheless, Mrs. Wakefield violated his basic concept of justice.

Mrs. Wakefield sneered. “That dope of a Doerflinger couldn't have made his case stick. The charges would've been dismissed. I said so all along.”

Judith dared to ask one more question. “How did you know about the marriage?” She wondered if she dared try to edge closer to Joe.

“That was a lucky stroke,” the housekeeper replied. “The building inspector insisted on meeting old Boo first. He was already half asleep, but I introduced them. Afterward, the guy tells me he recognized him—saw Boo down at City Hall taking out a marriage license with some young trick. I called down there and found out he'd gotten hitched to Jill. That's why there had to be a new will. The Space Alien version wouldn't have been any good as long as Boo had a wife.”

Momentarily, Judith lost her fear. “You forged that one, too?”

Mrs. Wakefield shook her head. “Oh, no. I didn't have to. I talked Boo into it. No sweat; he liked the idea of leaving the money to himself.”

It was Joe's turn to be startled. “Himself?”

Mrs. Wakefield's laugh was gusty, but her gaze never moved from Joe and Judith. “The American Society for Sighting and Studying Alien Beings Outside Ourselves? The first letters spell out TASSABOO! ‘Tass a Boo'—that was my father's nickname for his brother!”

“Wait a minute!” Joe didn't seem fazed by Mrs. Wakefield's sudden two-handed grip on the gun. “I don't get it. Who is this woman?” His question was directed at Judith.

“Ruth Major Wakefield,” Judith responded, swallowing hard as she saw the housekeeper take aim. “Rube Major's daughter. Rube and Boo were brothers. Rube and his wife are dead, so Ruth and her daughter, Zoe, are Boo's only blood relations.” Beyond Mrs. Wakefield, Judith saw Trixie tiptoeing across the main hall. Judith had forgotten that the other woman was still in the house. Whatever Trixie had been doing in the past several minutes, she'd exercised the greatest of stealth. Knees weak and chin trembling, Judith tried to say something, anything, to make Trixie understand what was going on. The housekeeper's back was turned; Trixie couldn't see the gun.

“Once I knew that a Ruth Major existed,” Judith blurted out, her voice uneven, “I knew somebody had a serious motive for killing Boo. Toadie and Vivvie might have seen you at Boo and Rosie's wedding, but you were just a kid. As with most of us, thirty or forty years can make a big difference. Anyway, Vivvie is muddleheaded and Toadie is self-absorbed. You could count on them not to recognize you.” She faltered briefly as panic seemed to overtake her. “But Renie remembered a freckle-faced teenager at the reception.” Now frantic, Judith forced herself to all but shout: “I knew the killer must have red hair!”

Halfway through the dining room, Trixie froze. Mrs. Wakefield's keen ears heard the soft footsteps behind her; she turned ever so slightly. Trixie had already crouched and started to spring. With a snarling yelp, she leaped across the floor—and dove straight at Joe Flynn.

T
HE GUN WENT
off, narrowly missing Judith. The bullet lodged in one of the cupboards. Mrs. Wakefield took aim again, but Judith had thrown herself at the housekeeper. Off-balance, the second shot hit the floor. So did Joe and Trixie. Fighting for her life, Judith grabbed the arm that held the gun, fingernails clawing into flesh.

“Let go!” Joe shouted at Trixie, finally delivering an openhanded slap to her cheek. “I'm a cop!”

Trixie stumbled backward, holding her face. “But…you've got red hair!”

Joe had pulled his own weapon. “Hit the deck!” he ordered Judith.

Judith, however, wasn't inclined to let go. She could feel the housekeeper weakening. The gun went off a third time, striking the ceiling. Bits of plaster fell over the combatants. Judith used her knee to knock the wind out of Mrs. Wakefield. The other woman sagged, groaned, and collapsed on the floor. The gun rolled harmlessly from her hand to lie on the linoleum next to Trixie's foot.

“You're right,” Trixie said in wonder, still rubbing her cheek. “She
does
have red hair. But it's going gray. She ought to touch it up.”

Joe removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt. Ex
pertly, he locked them on Mrs. Wakefield, who was making small, whimpering noises. “I need backup,” he said, yanking his radiophone off his belt. He spoke rapidly into the unit, then flipped it off and turned to Trixie. “Do I know you? Should I?”

“Maybe at Christmas…” Judith began, panting a little.

Trixie gave Joe a coquettish look. “If we met, I can't believe I wouldn't remember. I'm Trixie Bellew, and you're a real tiger.” She wasn't wearing her false eyelashes, but that didn't stop her from fluttering away at him.

He searched in vain for a notebook. “Damn! I must have dropped it in the car! Find one for me, will you, please?” he asked a bit curtly of Trixie.

Trixie, however, was inclined to linger. She put a hand on Joe's shoulder and purred provocatively. “You play kind of rough, Mr. Policeman. I like that. How's your rubber hose?”

Judith marched over to Trixie and slugged her on the other cheek.

 

Zoe Wakefield was crying. No amount of white wine or words of consolation could comfort her. Joe stood in front of the marble fireplace; Judith sat with Zoe on the sofa. A miffed Trixie had departed half an hour earlier, swearing she would never speak to Judith—or Joe—again. Mrs. Wakefield had been taken into custody a few minutes later. Zoe had shown up in a cab just as the squad car pulled away.

“Dad's going to take this very hard,” Zoe sniffed. “Once he comes down from…wherever he is.”

“I feel terrible,” Judith confessed, trying to console Zoe. “There were so few suspects who were…uh…qualified to commit this kind of crime. It was very clever and well thought out. Trixie is cunning, but totally disorganized. Toadie was a definite possibility, yet she'd have blown it somewhere along the way. Vivvie is too addled. Jill lacks the courage and Holly hasn't got any nerve. Derek seemed the most likely of the family members, but his grief was genuine. He's no actor. In fact, he has trouble showing emotions of any kind.”

Zoe blew her nose. “I knew about Rube Major, but I never guessed we were related. Dad has his pride—he's probably ashamed that we had to accept charity in the form of working for his wife's uncle. Imagine! All along, Mom should have had half of this! But would it have made us happy?” One of Zoe's hands fluttered like a dying bird. Judith started to interject a comment, but Zoe continued speaking. “I never dreamed Mom was related to Boo. Oh, I knew her first name was Ruth, but that didn't mean anything. I had no reason to learn her maiden name. Dad didn't believe in the capitalist-based principles of public education, so he home-schooled me. And I didn't ever have to fill out a job application, because after I grew up, I worked here as the maid.”

Judith nodded. “That was the problem—there didn't seem to be any motive for you or your parents. It was only when I learned that Rube had a daughter that I began to wonder about Ruth Major's identity. As a teenager, she had attended Boo and Rosie's wedding reception. Aunt Toadie said Ruth didn't spend much time with the grownups. My cousin Renie had glimpsed your mother in the hotel elevator. All she could remember was freckles.”

Zoe's amber eyes were wistful. “Mom's freckles faded as she got older. It's strange, you know,” she mused. “I wonder now if Mr. Major—Dunlop—might have relented about his own will if Mom hadn't married a hippie.”

The theory struck Judith as possible. “Your mother didn't seem interested in politics. She wanted justice, though. Eventually, after the homicide investigation had petered out, she'd have trotted out the forged will. Until then, she had to keep her family ties a secret. That's why she cut the phone wires—so we couldn't do any checking on what had happened to Ruth Major after her parents were killed. An obituary would have given her married name.”

Joe had found one of Boo's cigars and was puffing away. “We'll still need proof that Ruth Wakefield is Ruth Major. We need evidence, too. Otherwise we might be forever accusing the wrong Wakefields.” His tone was ironic.

Judith made a rueful face. “It was an honest mistake on my part. You're bright, Zoe. It could have been you. But your mother is smart, too, plus she admitted that she could do just about anything around the house. She had to, because Weed was such a washout. When it came to removing bricks, drilling holes, cutting phone wires, and all the rest, Mrs. Wakefield overcame every obstacle.” Judith turned back to Zoe. “You might have as well, if you knew you had a motive. But I realized you had something else—an alibi. It was so hard to keep track of who was where when, and, I have to admit, I got mixed up. Finally I remembered that you were with my cousin and me in the kitchen when the gun was fired. Your mother wasn't there—she was in the basement, tending to your father's burns.”

Zoe's flushed face was puzzled. “But…then how could she have done it?”

“It all began with the pressure cooker,” Judith said, ignoring Joe's incredulous expression. “Your mother set all of us up—especially your father. She put those beets on the upstairs stove, knowing the catering team would object. Which we did. So she took them downstairs and told your father how to tend them. But, of course, her directions were incorrect. She wanted them to explode, not only to make a misleading loud noise, but to give herself an excuse to go downstairs. Your dad was instructed to lift the lid and check the beets. He did, which is a definite no-no with a pressure cooker. Ka-blooey!” Judith folded her hands in her lap. “That started the series of noises that were intended to confuse us and mask the actual gunshot. To provide an alibi, she had to make it impossible to pin-point the actual time of death.”

Zoe was shocked. “Dad might have been badly burned. How could she?”

Judith avoided Zoe's pitiful gaze. “Your mother was single-minded. She saw only her goal and ran over any obstacles along the way. Even your dad, though I don't think she ever intended him serious harm.”

Zoe's face crumpled again, then regained some of its composure. “Mom was cunning,” she said in a bitter
voice, “but Dad has the real brains. Compassion and wisdom, too.”

“That may be. I should have listened more closely to what your father said.” Judith spoke with regret. “He told me that he'd asked your mother about one of the muffled sounds
after she'd come back
to tuck him in—which should have made me realize that for a brief period, she was out of your father's sight. She didn't come back upstairs, so where was she? She'd gone outside through the basement door by the back porch. And then your father said that your mother had ignored him. That didn't strike me as strange until I smelled a sheep in the basement.”

Joe expelled a big puff of smoke and started for the arched entrance to the living room. “We're leaving now. I have to get down to headquarters, and my wife has to see her nut doctor. She's gone over the edge, I'm afraid.”

But Judith waved a peremptory hand. “Now wait just a minute! It wasn't a real sheep, it was wet wool. It was raining like mad at the time of Boo's murder, and Mrs. Wakefield had to put a coat on over her uniform or else everyone would have known she was outside. She grabbed the loden coat, which would cover her completely and not show up in the dark. The coat was still damp this afternoon. I could smell it when Renie and I were in the servants' quarters.” Judith redirected her remarks to Zoe. “There was no way you could have gone from the dining room to the basement without being seen. So the coat had to have been worn by someone who had been downstairs. That, and the fact that when your mother came back up to the kitchen, she didn't seem to hear too well. Ordinarily, her hearing was very keen. But even with the silencer, the gun must have made a very loud noise inside the open wall of the den. She was temporarily deafened by the shot, which is why she ignored your father's question about the noise. She simply didn't hear him.”

Sniffing and nodding, Zoe tried to smile. “I knew Dad wouldn't kill anyone. He always wanted to turn the world upside down, but he wouldn't hurt people in the process. Dad's so gentle. That's why he does pot. It keeps him from seeing the ugly side of life.”

Judith refrained from making the obvious rejoinder, that a man who married a murderess faces ugliness personified. Instead, she patted Zoe's arm. “It wasn't really a selfish crime. Oh, your mother isn't as indifferent to money as your father. I suspect she always resented Uncle Boo's inheriting everything. But I honestly think she did it for you, Zoe. You'd been cheated of your inheritance as well as your future. Ruth Major Wakefield might have killed two people, but her goal was to make you happy.”

The young woman's reddened eyes stared helplessly at Judith. “Then why am I so miserable? I don't want money! I never did! Why do other people always think they know what's best for you? It's wrong! I don't give a damn about a billion dollars! I'd rather be a maid!”

Which was a good thing, thought Judith, since Zoe Wakefield probably wouldn't inherit one thin dime.

 

Hillside Manor was dark. There was no sign of a guest, a neighbor, or Gertrude. Frantically, Judith searched the front porch for notes left by disappointed B&B visitors. She scanned the street for cars she didn't recognize, but at the corner, the Steins were giving a party. There was no way of knowing which cars belonged where.

At last she let herself in through the front door. A strange, wavering light beamed from the living room into the dining room. Drawing nearer, she heard Gertrude's rasping voice:

“Watch, now…she'll trip, just as she gets her diploma…There she goes! Whump!…Here's the wedding to Lunkhead Number One. Looks don't count, folks. A year later, my little girl is living with Mr. Blimp. It gets worse…there he is, all four hundred pounds of him. Now, that's Mike, my grandson. Cute, huh? Ignore the drooping diapers—my daughter was working two jobs to support Blubber-o. That's their house on Thurlow Street—see the hookers standing down at the corner? Lousy neighborhood, but they kept getting evicted from—”

Judith flipped on the lights. At the far end of the long living room, the movie screen faded into a jumble of pastels. The eight startled faces that blinked at Judith be
longed to strangers. In the middle of the room, Gertrude sat behind the projector with Sweetums curled up at her feet.

“What's going on?” Judith demanded, sounding almost as raspy as her mother.

Gertrude flinched, then drew herself up straight in the armless rocking chair. “Well, finally! Out gallivanting all day and all night! I've been entertaining your guests with home movies.”

Fury and humiliation warred within Judith's breast. She flew across the living room, scaring Sweetums and alarming Gertrude.

“Delightful,” breathed a woman with steel-gray hair and several strands of pearls.

“Gritty,” declared a roly-poly, middle-aged man wearing a gold cardigan.

“Fascinating,” commented a younger woman with the dewy air of a new bride. She held her husband's hand and gazed into his face. “Just think of the memories we'll have if we always use our camcorder.”

Judith was about to grab Gertrude by the collar of her jungle-print housecoat. She hesitated as her mother smiled innocently. “Homey stuff. Real life. I skipped the appetizer thingamabobs and made dinner. Pig hocks, sauerkraut, and neflë. They loved it.” She pointed to the projector. “Want to see the part at your second wedding where Uncle Corky serenades you on the swinette?”

The reference to Uncle Corky caused Judith to think of Aunt Toadie. Recalling Aunt Toadie made Judith take a long, hard look at Gertrude. She threw her arms around her mother.

“Sure, I'll get the lights.” Judith scampered to the switch, Sweetums at her heels. “Roll 'em!”

The room went dark again. “Okay,” said Gertrude, “now there's my sister-in-law Deb, in the wheelchair. You can recognize her because her mouth moves faster than her brain. On the right, in the tan sport coat, is my brother-in-law Al. Watch his right hand—he's stealing that skinny guy's wallet. Lightest fingers in town…Now there's
Mike, all grown up and wearing a
tie
—can you believe it?”

Judith could. After more than twenty-four hours at Major Manor, she could believe anything. She could even believe that her mother had done her a favor. With Sweetums on her lap, Judith settled into Grandpa Grover's favorite armchair and let Gertrude go on with the show.

 

Joe didn't get home until almost midnight. By that time, Judith was fast asleep. If he hadn't dropped his .38 Smith & Wesson, she would never have known he was there.

“What was that?” she asked foggily.

“My gun,” Joe muttered. “It's okay. The safety's on.”