The Wurst Is Yet to Come (20 page)

“I'm on loan,” the officer responded. “The local police force is shorthanded during Oktoberfest. Shegogan County asked me to fill in. Double overtime. Why not?” She shrugged. “Call me Kitt, with two
t
's.”

“Okay,” Judith said. “Here's the problem, Kitt. Our car has been towed from behind the town hall. That is, it's not
our
car, but we—”

“Right,” Kitt interrupted. “I had it towed. You were in a no-parking zone. What did you expect? Or did you steal the car?”

“No,” Judith said indignantly. “A friend let us borrow it. The car belongs to Suzie Stafford, who owns the Pancake Schloss.”

Kitt's gray eyes were as chilly as snow clouds. “So? If you want it back, pay two hundred bucks cash and get it out of impound. I don't like pancakes.”

“Two hundred cash?” Judith exclaimed. “I don't have that much on me.” She turned to Renie. “Do you?”

“No,” Renie said. “I wouldn't give ten cents to somebody who didn't like pancakes.” She glared at Kitt. “What's wrong with you? People who don't like pancakes aren't normal.”

“Watch it,” Kitt said calmly. “You want to spend the night in a cell? This Fat Matt guy doesn't serve pancakes for breakfast.”

Renie looked thoughtful. “What does he serve? I had pancakes this morning. I might enjoy a change.”

“That,” Kitt said coldly, “can be arranged.”

“How about French toast or a nice omelet or—”

“Coz!” Judith exclaimed. “Shut up! We'll go to a cash machine.”

Renie made a face. “You can't get an omelet from a cash machine.”

Judith grabbed Renie, hauling her to the door. “We'll be back,” she called to Kitt.

The officer didn't bother to look at the cousins. “Whatev'.”

“One of these days,” Judith said when they got outside, “you're going to get us into serious trouble.”

“I'm not the one who parked in a no-parking zone.”

“You should have told me!”

“Hey—you talk about serious trouble? How about all the times we've almost gotten ourselves killed because you were trying to finger who whacked whoever.”

“Of course not,” Judith shot back, feeling the stiff wind sting her cheeks. “But I've never asked a cop for an omelet.”

“What about Joe's Special special? He used to be a cop.”

“That's different. He likes to cook sometimes.” Judith noticed that the main street was fairly busy, but there were no drunken revelers in sight. There were no signs of the police either. “Where
is
a bank?”

“How do
I
know?” Renie snapped. “I'm not the one who parked . . . oh, here come Connie and George Beaulieu. Ask them.”

Judith waved at the couple, who were crossing from the other side of the street. The Beaulieus didn't seem pleased to see the cousins, but stopped on the corner.

“The bank?” George echoed in response to Judith's query. “I don't think it's open on Saturdays.”

“Oh, Judith,” Connie said, making a feeble effort to look concerned, “have you run out of money already?”

“No. I need cash,” Judith said, in less than her usual kindly tone.

“Cash, eh?” George stroked his handlebar mustache. “That sounds odd. Everyone here seems to take credit or debit cards. Or have you exceeded your limits? Budget, that's the secret. I always tell Connie before we leave the house that we must first make a strict budget and keep to it. Very prudent approach.”

Connie squeezed George's arm. “My husband is so practical. But of course he has to be, since he's a government agent.”

“He is?” Judith asked in surprise. “What branch of government?”

“Now, Judith,” Connie said, “you should know better than to ask that question. Let's just say his work is . . . covert.”

George nodded. “Yes, deep cover, underground, you might say.”

“How interesting,” Judith remarked without enthusiasm. “Does that mean you might know where the bank is?”

The Beaulieus looked at each other questioningly. Finally George spoke. “I think it's a block or so west of the town hall on the same side of the street.”

“Yes,” Connie agreed. “George is right. Of course. It's next to the newspaper office. I had to go in there—the newspaper office, I mean—day before yesterday because they'd listed the wrong time for my innkeeping seminar this afternoon at four-thirty.”

“You're giving a seminar?” Judith said in surprise. “I didn't know anyone from the state association was doing that.”

Connie laughed. “It was Ingrid Heffelman's idea. She felt it would be excellent publicity to have someone like me tell not only prospective hostelry owners but guests what our business is all about. So sweet of her to choose little old me!”

“Yes,” Judith murmured.
Ingrid
and
sweet
were two words she never expected to hear in the same sentence. “Good luck with that.”

The Beaulieus had crossed to the other side of the main street. The cousins continued past the town hall just as the tower clock struck three. They reached the offices of the
Little Bavaria Blatt
first, but saw that it was closed.

“Drat,” Judith said. “I'd hoped it'd be open. You think they'd be covering the Oktoberfest events.”

“They probably are,” Renie said, circumventing a trio of older people who had stopped to chat. “But if they publish midweek, they don't need to keep the office open. I assume they're probably taking photos and covering some of the bigger events. Hopefully, not Connie's seminar.”

Judith sighed. “Sucking up to Ingrid. That galls me. You certainly were quiet when I talked to the Beaulieus.”

“I was pretending they didn't exist.”

“Good thinking. Here's the bank and there's the ATM. Damn. Forking out two hundred bucks wasn't in my budget. Even if I had one.”

“We'll split it. I really should've mentioned the sign.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“No, but I will. I have my kindly moments. Quick, take advantage of this one. They never last long.”

Judith smiled. “Thanks, coz. Let's hope this machine works.”

Luckily, their transactions went off without a hitch. Five minutes later they were back at police headquarters, where Chief Duomo was engaged in a shouting match with Officer Kitt.

“You don't tow Suze's car! This is Little Bavaria, not some big, ritzy place like Lake Shegogan! Do you want to cut off my waffles?”

“How am I supposed to know who owns what car in this stinking little burg?” Kitt yelled back. “A no-parking zone means what it says where I come from! What kind of operation are you running here?”

“
My
kind,” Duomo bellowed. “You don't know jack about how law enforcement works in a small . . .” The chief suddenly noticed the cousins. “Hey there, FATSO, what's up?”

Judith winced, but decided she wanted Duomo as her ally. “Your extra help says I owe two hundred bucks for parking Suzie's car by the town-hall rear entrance.”

“That's bull,” Fat Matt declared, glowering at Kitt. “Hell, I could pay that fine out of petty cash for you or Suze.” He turned back to the still-irate redhead. “Check the lockbox in that drawer and give the lady a couple of hundreds just for harassing her. She passed Go. Get it?”

“You get it,” Kitt snarled. “It's your petty cash and I don't do charity when I'm on the job.”

“Then do your job and go arrest somebody I don't like,” the chief said. “Go on, hit the streets.”

Kitt grabbed her jacket and hat, hurtled around the counter, and shot one last malevolent look at the cousins. “I should get triple overtime for this gig!”

“To be fair,” Judith said, after Kitt made her exit, “I should've seen the sign. Were you serious about giving me the two hundred dollars?”

Duomo shrugged. “Guess not. I think there's only about thirty in petty cash. My idiot brother wants to start charging me for his pastries. Hey, what's family for?”

“Let's call it even,” Judith said. “We still have our hunskies. What happened to the rioting young drunks?”

Duomo leaned against the counter. “We told 'em to take off. Where would I put a mob like that? Maybe they're walking out of town. They're too drunk to drive. Hell, they're too drunk to walk. If they try to flee justice, Orville and Ernie are waiting for them at each end of town. Maybe we could make some money off of that bunch. Anybody hungry?”

Renie raised her hand.

Duomo nodded. “I'll call that redhead and have her get something. Patrol's a waste of time during Oktoberfest. How 'bout some brats?”

Renie shook her head. “I don't like them. A burger and fries sound good, though.”

“Sure,” Duomo agreed. “I'll give the redhead a few minutes to cool off. Kind of a good-looker, though. Too bad she's so ornery.”

“While we're waiting,” Judith said, tired of propping herself up against the counter, “could we talk about some things my cousin and I found in the town records?”

Fat Matt shrugged. “Why not? Couldn't take you too long. The old town hall burned down years ago. Glad I wasn't the chief back then. They never did figure out who set the fire.”

Judith stared at Duomo. “You mean it was arson?”

“So it seemed. Just as well it got torched. Wessler would've built a new one anyway to fit his plan for Little Bavaria. Follow me. Hernandez should show up any minute.”

The chief's office smelled of cigars and Limburger cheese. Judith and Renie both made sure they weren't going to sit on any leftovers before seating themselves across from Duomo.

“We went to the cemetery this afternoon,” Judith began. “We found the Wesslers' graves.”

The chief yawned. “So? They haven't moved for quite a while.”

Judith got to the point. “How did Wessler's wife and child drown?”

Fat Matt looked unmoved. “They fell in the river. Julia couldn't swim. Neither could the baby.”

“Why,” she persisted, “were they by the river on Christmas Eve?”

“How would I know? I wasn't born yet.” Fat Matt took in Judith's irked expression and sighed. “It was during the day, not night.”

“It seems odd,” Judith persisted, “especially if the river was high.”

“I don't know what the river was like,” the chief said impatiently. “The story was she'd gone to get greens for decorations, slipped on a wet rock or something, and fell in. If she was carrying the kid, she probably couldn't let go to grab anything. It was a freaky thing. Nobody ever said anything different. Real sad, but those things happen.”

Judith considered the explanation, which was credible, if not necessarily true. “How were they found?”

“Hell, I don't know.” Duomo was opening drawers, maybe searching for something to eat. “I suppose Wessler went looking for them when they didn't show up. All I know is that it wasn't long after that he started having kids with other women. Guess he was making up for lost time or some damned thing.”

“Why,” Judith asked, leaning closer, “do you never call him ‘Dad' or ‘Papa' or whatever most people call their fathers?”

The chief shrugged. “Too confusing. With so many of us, a half-dozen kids yelling for ‘Dad' would've been kind of weird. Anybody could've called him that when I stop to think about it. Face it, Wessler was the town's father figure in more ways than one.”

Judith nodded. “How did your father get along with his sons?”

“You mean the legit ones?” Duomo leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling. “Oh . . . not sure I recall. I was a teenager back then. Not much interested in grown-up stuff. Didn't have much to do with my Wessler cousins—Joe and Tilde's kids.”

“Tilde!” Renie exclaimed. “That's not too bad.”

The chief stared at her. “Too bad for what?”

“A name,” Renie said. “Clotilde bothers me.”

“She never bothered me,” Fat Matt said. “I didn't see much of her. Kept herself to herself, as they say. Fussy woman. Franz was kind of snooty. No wonder Klara dumped him. Not that she isn't a little strange. All that singing stuff. Why can't she just yodel and get it over with? The tunes she sings last about half an hour. Or maybe it just seems like it.”

“Lieder,” Renie remarked.

“Leader of what?” the chief said. “She's never had a Girl Scout troop or a bunch of Camp Fire Girls. Too snooty, like Franz.”

“I meant . . .” Renie stopped. “Skip it.”

“You mentioned cousins,” Judith said, trying to get back on track. “Does Franz have other siblings besides Josef?”

“You mean legit ones?” Duomo saw Judith nod. “Nope, just the baby sister who drowned.”

She changed the subject. “Has the autopsy been concluded?”

A knock sounded on the door. “What?” Duomo barked.

Hernandez entered, nodding vaguely at the cousins. “Doc Frolander sent this over,” he said, handing the chief a manila envelope.

“About time,” Fat Matt grumbled. “Where's that redhead?”

Hernandez frowned. “She took off in her own squad car.”

“You mean,” the chief said, his face reddening, “she left town?”

“No,” Hernandez replied. “She had to break up a dogfight. Those dachshunds mixed it up with Wessler's Saint Bernards. Franz was walking them. Dolph ate a couple of the dachshunds' hats.”

“Oh.” Duomo sat back in his chair. “Guess the redhead's sticking around. You might as well take over the front desk until she gets back.”

Hernandez departed. The chief set the manila envelope aside. “Damn. Now I can't send out for a snack.”

“Hey,” Judith said, practically reaching out to grab the autopsy report, “are you going to read that thing or not?”