Major Vices (3 page)

Aunt Toadie followed Judith's gaze. “Boo got a new, big-screen TV set for his birthday from Vivvie and her son, Derek.” She spoke their names with distaste. “Boo was going to put it in here, but I said it would overwhelm the den. I had it moved upstairs to the master bedroom. So much more convenient, though such a large screen is quite unnecessary. Boo's vision is exceptional for his age.”

“Amazing,” Judith remarked, marveling not at Boo's eyesight so much as at the generosity of Toadie's sister and nephew. Derek Rush, however, had always been close to Boo, or so Uncle Corky had once revealed.

Aunt Toadie had put on her half-glasses, which she wore on a gold chain. Charm bracelets a-jangle, she opened the desk drawer and took out a single sheet of paper. “The guests from Major Mush are local employees of the company's branch office here. And their families, of course. Some are retired, some are active. We want to treat
these people generously. However, we don't want them to gorge.” Her voice had changed, from the usual high-pitched gush to a deeper, brisker tone. “Don't pass the food and drink trays more than twice. They're due to stay approximately one hour. If anyone lingers after seven o'clock, Mr. Wakefield will take care of them.”

Judith blinked. She had visions of Mr. Wakefield picking up any laggards by the scruffs of their necks and hurling them out into the frosty night.

“Boo is receiving them in the entry hall,” Toadie continued, removing her glasses and allowing them to dangle against a black cashmere sweater which sported tiny silver rivets. “Then they'll be ushered into the living room to enjoy themselves with food and beverage.” She leaned forward, fixing Judith with her cold blue eyes. “How many jugs did you bring?”

“Jugs?” Judith looked startled. “I didn't bring the wine in jugs. I never do. I brought two cases of Chablis, one of rosé, one Riesling, and one Burgundy. Sparkling cider, too. Nobody said anything about
jugs
.”

Aunt Toadie's gaze was reproachful. “Judith! I know we discussed the wine. How on earth could you bring so much? I hope you don't intend to bill us for it!”

Judith's strong chin jutted. “When it comes to beverages, I bill for what's consumed. With food, I charge for all of it, because leftovers usually won't keep.”

Frowning, Toadie drew circles on the sheet of paper which lay before her. “How big are the plastic glasses?”

Judith gestured with her hands. “Three inches, I'd say.” She wished they were as big as beer steins. “We've also brought along plates and forks and napkins. The appetizers are shrimp balls, pickled herring in sour cream, Bavarian ham finger sandwiches, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, Norwegian sardines, and smoked oysters. I've got Brie and Gouda and Havarti for cheeses. Oh, and crackers, of course. Four kinds—sesame, water wafers…”

Toadie Grover was reeling in Uncle Boo's chair. “Oh, my God! This is outrageous! What are you trying to do—bankrupt us?”

Keeping a rein on her temper, Judith lowered her voice.
“Aunt Toadie, we talked often and at length this week. You kept saying you wanted a really nice party for Uncle Boo. I mentioned several of the items I would provide. You never contradicted me. What was I to think?”

Toadie had now assumed a stern air. “The problem with you, Judith, is that you
don't
think. You never have. I remember one Christmas Eve when you were a little girl, and after Santa left, they took down the big curtain that hid the tree and the presents. You acted so impulsively, diving right into the living room and smashing the doll bed your parents had given you. Of course, it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been such a heavy child.”

Judith bristled. “It wouldn't have happened at all if Trixie hadn't pushed me.” Vividly, she remembered her younger cousin leaping among the pretty packages, screaming, “Mine! Mine! I want! Now!” Renie, who was never one to suffer fools gladly even in her youth, had put a headlock on Trixie and carried her off to the coal bin in the basement. Renie had been punished for her temerity but always swore it was worth it.

Toadie was still looking severe. “Never mind all that petty bickering. We're in the present, Judith. My estimate of the cost for tonight clearly doesn't match yours. We'll have to hammer it out later. Right now, you've got work to do. And I must change.”

Judith was still angry. She'd spent two days and two hundred dollars preparing for Uncle Boo's party. Aunt Toadie was going to squirm off the hook when she got the bill. Judith should have known. There was no point in arguing until push came to shove. Judith also got to her feet.

The phone on the desk rang, a sharp, jarring sound. Toadie picked it up, then grimaced. “It's for you,” she announced.

Judith's high forehead creased. She took the old-fashioned black handset receiver from Toadie and heard Joe's voice on the other end.

“Jude-girl,” he began, using the nickname that she'd never liked and he refused to abandon, “I've got a problem.”

“What? Where are you?” Judith checked her watch. It
was after five. Joe should be on his way home. A sense of unease crept over her.

“I'm still at work. I knew it was too good to be true when I got off early a couple of days this week. Now I get stuck on a priority missing-persons investigation. I'll probably work through the weekend.”

Judith's heart sank. At the door, Toadie sensed apprehension in the air, and seemed to enjoy it. “But the guests! What shall I do?” Judith wailed.

Joe's voice took on a miserable note. “I don't know, Jude-girl. I feel rotten about this. Believe me, I wouldn't do it if the marching orders hadn't come down from the Mayor's office.”

Briefly, Judith forgot her own dilemma. “The Mayor? Who's missing? His campaign manager for reelection?”

Joe's chuckle was jagged. “Not quite. It's his cousin, a city building inspector who disappeared yesterday. Reliable guy, family man, no kinks, no quirks. But he never came home last night. We're presuming he met with foul play. That's why I got assigned, to cover the homicide angle. Ordinarily, we don't consider anybody officially missing until they've been gone forty-eight hours. But this is different—the Mayor and his family are frantic.”

Joe had managed to tap Judith's deep well of compassion. “No wonder. That's terrible. Gosh, Joe—it sounds as if the Mayor has a lot of faith in you if you've been assigned to the case. Isn't it a feather in your cap?”

Joe's attempts at modesty rarely succeeded. “Oh, maybe. It was either me or Buck Doerflinger, and I'll be damned if I let that self-serving S.O.B. get ahead of me. He's a showboater, but since life is unfair, the next promotion will probably go to him instead of me. When it comes to complicated investigations, he's a washout. I call him Mr. Obvious.”

Among other things, thought Judith, well aware of her husband's contempt for his archrival in the Homicide Division. “You'll do your usual bang-up job,” she assured Joe. “And I'll cope without you. Maybe Corinne Dooley can come over and help. With all those kids of hers, she's used to feeding mobs. I'll give her a buzz.”

Joe allowed that Mrs. Dooley was a possibility. His voice grew deeper, softer. “I'll be home around eleven. Will you be waiting for me?”

Judith wished Toadie would leave the den. “Of course,” she replied.

“In bed?” Joe asked.

“Right, sure, you know it.”

“I'll try not to be too tired,” he said, and this time his chuckle was more hearty.

“Oh, good, that'd be wonderful.” Judith felt her cheeks flush.

“What will you be wearing?” Joe inquired, despite the eruption of voices in the background.

“Uh—something. Yes, something long.”

“The hot-pink number?” Joe suggested as the voices grew louder. “Or the black lace?”

“One of the above,” Judith responded weakly.

Joe finally caught on, or else his fellow detectives were nagging at him to get going. “Good, great. Got to run. Hey, be careful coming off The Bluff. It's supposed to rain, and if it's cold enough, it could turn to snow or ice up.”

Judith promised to exercise due care. She hung up, then informed Toadie she had to make a phone call. She half-expected her aunt to tell her to leave a quarter on the desk.

Corinne Dooley was in the middle of making dinner for her brood. But nine children had given her flexibility in more ways than one. She cheerfully agreed to greet the B&B guests and provide them with sherry and the hors d'oeuvres Judith had already prepared. Relieved, Judith returned to the kitchen.

Renie had already brought in the wine and cider. “It's starting to rain,” she announced, running a hand through her damp chestnut curls. “When do we heat the Brie and the shrimp balls?”

Judith suggested they wait until shortly before the guests' arrival. Relating Joe's tale of woe to Renie, she also recounted the interview with Aunt Toadie. Renie shook her head.

“You know how cheap she is,” Renie pointed out, slic
ing Havarti cheese with Judith's sharp knife. “Remember the year she gave me Trixie's outgrown playclothes for my doll? On my tenth birthday, I got an eraser.”

Judith nodded. “Same here. But what gets me is that she isn't paying for this party. Uncle Boo is—or so I was led to believe. I mean, it's a legitimate business expense, right? Not to mention that he's loaded. But Toadie acts as if it's
her
money, too. What's going on?”

Renie leaned against the wooden counter. “I don't know. My mother talks to Aunt Toadie now and then. Mom and Uncle Corky have always been pretty close. I gathered that Toadie was keeping an eye on Uncle Boo because she doesn't think the Wakefields are reliable.”

Opening a tin of smoked oysters, Judith gave Renie a questioning look. “I've never met the Wakefields before, though I recall that they've been with him forever. In fact, they came here not long after Aunt Rosie and Uncle Boo got married, right?”

Renie shook her head. “No, I don't think so. Old Dunlop was still alive then. The Wakefields came after he died, somewhere around the time you and I went to Europe.”

“That's right,” Judith responded. “Old Dunlop went to that big barley field in the sky while we were in Vienna. That was 1964.” Having set out the oysters, Judith tackled the stove. She studied the dials and smiled. “Wow, is this old! It must be good, though. I'll bet it's the original model.” Checking the oven, she found it in need of a good cleaning, and shrugged. “It'll do for heating up. What's this?” She pointed to a steaming pressure cooker atop the stove.

Renie glanced around from her task of placing water wafers on a plate. “Mrs. Wakefield returned briefly to put on some beet greens. I wish she hadn't. I hate pressure cookers.” Renie sneezed. “Drat! I got choked up outside getting the wine. There's dust all over the place. It must be from the masonry work. The rain ought to settle it. Hay fever I don't need tonight.”

Cautiously, Judith turned on the oven. There was less than half an hour before the guests were due to arrive. Ju
dith was setting plastic wineglasses on a tray when the frosted glass door opened and a languid, auburn-haired beauty drifted into the kitchen.

“Hi,” she breathed, not hesitating before slipping a smoked oyster between her full lips. “I'm Zoe Wakefield, the Major maid.”

Judith and Renie stared. Zoe did not look like a maid. She was dressed in a white poet's shirt and a tiered green velvet skirt. Her bountiful auburn hair was piled casually on her head, revealing perfect ears with clusters of dangling pearls that couldn't possibly have been real. Judith guessed Zoe's age in the mid-to-late twenties, but couldn't be sure.

Regaining her aplomb, Judith introduced herself and Renie. “Are you helping us, Ms. Wakefield?”

Zoe ate another oyster. “Helping you with what?” Long, curling lashes dipped over riveting big eyes of an uncertain color. Gold? Green? Amber? Judith realized she was staring.

“The party,” she replied with forced cheer. “Mrs. Grover hasn't made it clear to us who is doing what.”

“Mrs. Grover is an idiot.” Zoe Wakefield spoke with scorn, her perfect chin tilted upward.

Neither of the cousins felt like arguing with Zoe. Judith, however, pressed on: “The problem is that we've got to serve the Major Mush guests, then get dinner ready for the family. We thought maybe you or your mother would help us between six and seven.”

Zoe's laugh was lovely, a musical cascade of notes that rippled around the kitchen. “This event is in Mrs. Grover's hands. Officially, my parents and I have the night off. In fact,” she went on, going over to the sink to gaze through the window, “my drama club meets this evening. I wonder if I should go. That rain looks like sleet.” Zoe drifted off toward the dining room and into the entry hall.

“We're the designated saps,” Renie declared, giving the cutting board a whack with the kitchen knife. “We're stuck with this whole show, right, coz?”

Judith was chewing on her forefinger and thinking frantically. “Right, right,” she answered vaguely. “Let's
see—we heat the party stuff; then the rack of lamb can go in just after six. Dinner is at eight, after the relatives have time to get tight as ticks or deck each other or whatever. New potatoes, broccoli with béchamel sauce, cauliflower Allemande, rolls, crème brûlée for dessert.” Pointing to the stove, she grimaced. “We might do it. It'll be rugged, but we've got no choice. Mrs. Wakefield will have to remove her beet greens, though. I'll go downstairs to tell her.”

But first Judith opened the door next to the one that led to the basement. As she had suspected, the stairs went upward. Judith reasoned that the triple garage must be reached through the door in the adjacent wall. She headed downstairs. The part of the basement which she entered by the back stairs was obviously the servants' quarters. A narrow hall was flanked by several closed doors. Outerwear hung on brass hooks at the bottom of the steps. Two jackets, one dark green, the other red, were flanked by a long brown raincoat and a large black loden coat. At the far end of the hallway was a small door about three feet off the floor. Judith guessed it was the laundry chute. She paused, not knowing where to find the housekeeper or her husband.