The Wurst Is Yet to Come (2 page)

BOOK: The Wurst Is Yet to Come
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Joe shrugged. Judith sensed what he was thinking. They both knew she never made promises she couldn't keep.

R
enie wasn't a morning person. Judith wasn't surprised to see Bill Jones's grim expression as he carried his wife's suitcase to the Subaru. “She's coming,” he said, opening the rear door and shoving the luggage across the seat. “Any chance you can leave her in Little Bavaria?”

“You'd miss her,” Judith said, trying to sound convincing.

Bill scowled. “She just missed me with a cereal bowl. I'm going back inside to calm down Oscar. He gets agitated when Renie gets up before he does. It interrupts our discussion of the morning newspaper.”

“Ah . . . right,” Judith said as Bill saluted both Flynns before heading back into the house. “Damn,” she murmured, “just when I was feeling sorry for Bill, he had to bring up that stupid stuffed ape!”

Joe seemed unfazed. “Oscar can't be that stupid if he can talk about current events.”

“Joe!” Judith glared at her husband. “Don't you dare buy into—”

“Hey, here comes Renie. Look, she's kissing Bill good-bye. She can't be all that grumpy. Or maybe she's biting him. Is he bleeding?”

“That's lipstick,” Judith said in disgust. “Don't make any smart-ass remarks when she gets in the car, okay?”

Renie, attired in a forest-green cable-knit sweater and matching slacks, marched out to the car and got into the backseat.

Joe spoke first. “Good morn—”

“What's good about it?” Renie snarled. “It's mother-jumping eight o'clock and no human being should be up in the middle of the mother-jumping night!” She slumped down and fumbled with the seat belt. “Hey, this sucker's broken! You want to get me killed?”

“Yes,” Joe murmured.

“It's not broken,” Judith said, craning her neck to look at her cousin. “It's just . . . tricky.”

“Bill's waving bye-bye,” Joe said.

“The hell he is,” Renie snapped. “He just gave me the finger!”

“Well . . .” Joe said, “it looked kind of like a wave.”

“Ha! He . . . there! I got it fastened. Let's rock.”

The ride downtown was in morning rush-hour traffic, but mercifully, Renie kept quiet. The sun had come up and it promised to be a crisp, beautiful autumn day. Judith kept her eyes straight ahead while Joe muttered an occasional rude remark about less competent drivers. They reached the train station at ten to nine.

“Grab a cart,” Joe said. “I'm in an impound area and I'm already late. I don't want to have to arrest myself.”

Judith leaned over to kiss Joe. “I love you,” she said.

“Right. Go. Somebody's pulling up behind me.”

“Men!” Judith said under her breath after she'd dragged the travel case out of the car.

Renie had snatched a cart from an elderly couple who seemed confused. “Dump your case here,” she called to Judith. “Don't run. You'll dislocate your phony hip. I don't want any more crap this morning.”

Wincing at the Subaru's squealing tires as Joe rocketed away from the station, Judith joined Renie by the door. “Those poor old people,” she whispered after the cousins had gone inside. “Why couldn't you get a cart on this side of the door?”

“What door?” Renie retorted. “You think I can see this early?”

“You can sure bitch,” Judith said. “Watch where you're going with that cart. It's not a NASCAR entry. You almost ran into that baby carrier on the floor.”

“The baby should have wheels on that thing,” Renie muttered. “Have we got tickets?”

“Yes. We have to check in at that desk when the conductor arrives. The line's already forming.”

Renie stopped so abruptly that Judith almost fell on top of her. “Then I'm going to sit down right here.”

“But there's a man—”

“Oops!” Renie yipped as the bearded man who was already sitting in the chair let out a cry of surprise. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and moved over to an empty seat. She glared at her cousin. “I told you I couldn't see. You should've warned me.”

“I tried to,” Judith said in an irritated tone. “Why don't you just shut up and sit there?”

“Okay.”

Judith wasn't surprised by her cousin's sudden docile change. After sixty years of being closer than sisters, they knew each other better than anyone else did. Sometimes they didn't like each other very much, but their bond was so strong that nothing short of global destruction could sever it. Thus, Judith barely noticed that Renie had gone to sleep.

The bearded man leaned across the empty chair between them. “Is your friend all right?” he inquired in a deep, faintly accented voice.

“What? Oh—yes, she's fine. My cousin isn't an early riser.”

“You're cousins?” the man said, still speaking softly. “You don't look alike.”

“No,” Judith said. “My cousin's sort of small. I'm not.”

“Your coloring is not the same . . . excuse me, I apologize.” He chuckled, apparently embarrassed. “I should not be so bold.”

“It's okay,” Judith said, smiling. “Are you from around here?”

“No,” he replied, stroking his short gray beard. “I'm from Los Angeles. But I grew up partly in Germany. Tuttlingen, to be exact.”

“Ah,” Judith said. “My maternal ancestors came from that area.”

He held out his hand. “I am Franz Wessler. And you?”

“Judith Flynn,” she said, shaking hands. “My husband's Irish. That is, Irish-American.”

“Very nice to meet you. You are going far?”

“No, only to Little Bavaria.”

He beamed, sporting a gold eyetooth. “So am I! I have family there. You are going to Oktoberfest?”

“Yes.” Judith smiled again. “It's nice not to have to drive over the pass. The train didn't used to stop at Little Bavaria, you know.”

Franz nodded. “True. I have not been there for some time.”

“Oh?” Judith's dark eyes showed her genuine interest in other people. “Do your parents live in Little Bavaria?”

Franz nodded again, though he had turned grave. “My father does. At ninety-six, he is elderly, but in robust health. Still, you never know how much longer anyone has. I have not seen him since 1999. I felt I should waste no more time.”

“I understand,” Judith said. “My mother is elderly, too. Nobody lives forever.”
Except my mother,
she thought.
Maybe God doesn't want her
. And immediately she felt guilty. Gertrude's parting words that morning had been to not drink any beer or act like a strumpet.

“Does he live alone?” Judith inquired.

“Ah . . . no.” Franz avoided Judith's gaze. “
Mutter
died years ago.”

An announcement asked passengers to line up for the conductor. “That's us,” Judith said, noting that Franz carried only a briefcase.

He stood up. “I hope to see you in Little Bavaria.”

“You may,” Judith said. “Enjoy the view. It should be lovely with all the trees in fall colors. We're lucky the weather's clear today.”

Franz picked up his briefcase. “After you.”

“No, go ahead. It may take me a while to wake up my cousin.”

“Well . . . if you insist.” Franz sketched a bow and got into line.

Renie, however, was awake. “I heard that,” she said, vaulting out of the chair. “You're already picking up strange guys?”

“Keep it down,” Judith warned, rolling her travel case behind a couple with two small children. “If you were eavesdropping, then you know that Franz Wessler has an aged father in Little Bavaria. I have to be polite to everybody. They might be potential B&B guests.”

Renie plopped her suitcase on the floor. “Are you going to mention Hillside Manor's mortality rate? Or tell them that if a problem arises, emergency vehicles are always parked by the cul-de-sac?”

“Pipe down,” Judith whispered. “Why didn't you stay asleep? I could've put you in a luggage cart and shoved you to the train platform.”

Renie shrugged. “That's what my son-in-law Odo does when I have a temper tantrum in one of those horrible big-box stores. Then, as I sail out the door, I throw him my credit card. Those places make me crabby.”

“Odo is a smart man,” Judith murmured. “Anne was lucky to get someone who could put up with all her peculiar proclivities.”

“Huh?” Renie stared at her cousin. “Like what? Our daughter is perfectly normal.”

“Oh,” Judith said, gazing at the high ceiling, where the original century-old plaster flower motif was being restored, “her obsession with casino gambling, her fascination with old cemeteries and ghost towns, her so-called work meetings that are only an excuse to dine and guzzle wine. Not every husband would humor her.”

“Ha! Mike married a bossy Valkyrie with a big mouth,” Renie countered, glaring at the three-year-old boy who was tugging at her slacks. “Why doesn't he tell her to back off?” She held up a hand. “Don't say it. Because she could throw him through the front window?”

Judith leaned closer to Renie. “Listen up, coz, since you chewed out Kristin last Christmas, she insists she'll never come to any family gathering where you're present. How do you like that?”

“I like that a lot,” Renie retorted, ignoring the older little boy, who was trying to show her a couple of Matchbox cars. “I did it for your sake. She had no right to call you a doormat.”

“You would,” Judith shot back—and suddenly began to cry.

“What the hell . . . ?” Renie muttered as the younger child yanked so hard on her slacks that she almost fell over her travel case. “Damn! Beat it, twerp!” She turned back to Judith. “Why are you crying?”

“Oh . . . I . . .” Judith sniffed a couple of times. “Mike called last night to say the Forest Service is transferring him to a new ranger post.”

“When? Where?”

Judith took a tissue out of her purse and wiped her eyes. “He doesn't know. He's been in his current job for ten years. It's time.”

Renie frowned. “Oh, coz, I'm sorry. They were just an hour away, and the little boys are growing so fast . . .” She seemed at a loss for words.

Judith had gotten herself under control. “They could go anywhere in the United States. Even Hawaii or Alaska.”

Renie glared at the older boy, who was racing his Matchbox cars between the cousins. “Is Mike upset?”

“Well . . . yes. They have to take Mac and Joe-Joe out of school. And both he and Kristin liked being close to a city, and this area is home to Mike. Joe isn't happy about it either.”

The cousins had moved up almost to the conductor's desk. Only the little boys' parents were waiting ahead of them. Judith glimpsed Franz Wessler heading through the door to the train. The big clock on the far wall informed her that it was 9:25. She noticed that the line behind them reached almost to the length of the waiting room. Their departure was going to be delayed, but that was the least of her concerns. The trip to Little Bavaria would take less than four hours.

“How soon?” Renie asked.

The question startled Judith. “How soon? Oh—you mean before they find out where they're going? I'm not sure. They'd probably move after the first of the year.”

“Then they'll be here for the holidays,” Renie pointed out.

“Maybe.” Judith's lips barely moved.

“What do you mean?”

“I told you. Kristin won't come to family occasions if you're there.”

Renie's face puckered with disgust. “What a brat! Don't worry. I'll have a little talk with her. She'll come and behave herself or I'll fix it so that Mike can mail her to your house in a padded envelope.”

“You want to end up in the ER?” Judith shot back. “She's twice your size.”

Renie shrugged. “True, but I'm sneakier. She'll never know what hit her.”

“Don't. Please. You'll only make things worse.”

“How could I?” Renie said. And jumped—and swore.

Judith looked down at the toddler, who was wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Renie snatched his hand out from under the cuff of her slacks.

“Get your stupid car off my leg, you little twit! What do I look like? The Brick Yard?”

It was his turn to burst into tears. The boy's mother turned around just as her husband got to the desk. “What's wrong with Ormond?” she asked in a vague voice. “Did he hurt himself?”

“Not yet,” Renie said, “but if you don't move this pest and the one hanging on to my backside, I'll stuff them both in the baggage car.”

“I beg your pardon?” the young woman huffed. “Ormond and Thurmond are amusing themselves. Don't you like children?”

“Only as an appetizer,” Renie snapped.

“Excuse me?” The woman took a step toward Renie. Ormond's crying had dwindled to a whimper. Thurmond, who looked about five, scrambled to his mother's side. Their father had finished at the desk.

“Come on,” he said. “Let's get on that iron horsey, guys!”

Both boys scampered off with him, but their mother lingered. “Stay away from our sweeties, you . . .
monster
.” Getting a frozen stare in return, she turned to Judith. “Are you responsible for her?”

Judith blinked. “Ah . . .”

“Skip it,” the young woman said. “If you two bother us on the train, I'll call the conductor.” She rushed off, flipping a long woolen scarf over one shoulder as if it were a penalty flag.

Judith approached the conductor, who, she realized, looked distressingly familiar. “Good morning, Mr. Peterson,” she said in her friendliest tone. “We're only going as far as Little Bavaria this time.”

Mr. Peterson didn't conceal his relief. “That's . . . good. I mean,” he went on with a quick glance at Renie, “it's a delightful town, especially this time of year. Have a pleasant trip.” He handed the tickets back to Judith. “You, too, Mrs. Bones.”

BOOK: The Wurst Is Yet to Come
11.9Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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