Just Desserts : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery (20 page)

“Poor man,” murmured Judith a bit absently as she racked her brain for a way to worm further information out of Harvey. The idea that had begun to emerge pirouetted out of her mind’s range. Somehow, the facts she was eliciting weren’t falling into the proper pattern. At least not yet. She was about to inquire as to the exact nature of Lance’s injury when they heard Ellie calling from the other side of the door.

“Harvey! Yoo-hoo! Are you in there?”

Harvey lowered his head, swung his arms, and charged for the door. “Coming. Did you find my brown socks?”

“Of course, dear,” said Ellie, nodding across the threshold to Judith and Renie as she took her husband’s arm. “I always find your things, don’t I?”

“Not all of them,” said Harvey darkly, as he cast a final glance over his shoulder at the family inner sanctum.

Judith quietly but firmly closed the door behind Harvey and locked it. “Wanda worked in surgery, remember? What do you bet Harvey
did
know Wanda?”

“Everybody knew Wanda,” said Renie, falling into the armchair and looping one leg over the side. “I’m even beginning to feel like she and I were real close.”

Judith had wandered over to the window, where she peered down at the Rankers’s house. Gertrude must be champing at the bit to come home. She’d never been one for long trips even if the family could have afforded them on Donald Grover’s salary as a high school teacher. Spending the night with Arlene and Carl had probably been a bit of a lark, if only to get a ringside seat at one of the couple’s domestic brawls. But a second night out for Gertrude seemed in store, and Judith knew her mother would balk. The investigation was taking too long, there were too many loose ends, the police were dragging their feet. Or was it Joe?

Judith turned to Renie, who was nodding off in the chair.

“Where are your kids?”

148 / Mary Daheim

Renie jumped. “Huh? What kids?” She blinked rapidly.

“Oh,
those
kids! Anne went to Port Royal for the weekend.

Tom and Tony are skiing up at Mount Woodchuck.”

“When’s Bill due back?” Judith moved a few inches out of the draft that was coming in through the casement.

“Tomorrow night. I’m supposed to meet his plane at seven-forty. He’s in Palo Alto.” Renie yawned and shook herself.

“Why don’t you take Joe’s advice and have a nap? I can start dinner. If we’re doing steaks, there’s no rush except to get baked potatoes ready for the oven. It’s not even four yet.

How about mashed carrots and rutabagas?”

“How about cardboard and Elmer’s Glue? Nobody in the family eats rutabagas anymore except you and your mother, and you know it. I’d always hoped that when they said ‘You can’t take it with you,’ God made an exception and let Grandma Grover bring along that ghastly recipe.”

Renie’s umbrage was halfhearted. “You don’t like grilled lamb kidneys, either. Okay, how about green beans with bacon?” Before Judith could answer, Renie was on her feet, waving the arm with the torn sleeve. “You’re avoiding the issue, coz. Why don’t you lie down for an hour or so?”

Judith looked at the bed with yearning. Coming from Renie, the suggestion was more palatable than it had been from Joe. “I could rest my eyes,” she said, quoting their grandmother, for whom that phrase had meant falling into a virtual coma. “It’s starting to snow,” Judith noted with another glance out the window. “No wonder it got so dark.”

“Lord,” groaned Renie, going to the other window to see for herself, “I hope we don’t get marooned here with all these goofballs! Especially since one of them is a murderer.” She paused, expecting an appropriate comment from her cousin.

But Judith was standing motionless by the bed, a frown creasing her forehead. “I mean,” Renie clarified, “it sounds incredible, but the fact is, we’re giv-JUST DESSERTS / 149

ing food and shelter to a killer. If I gave it serious thought, I’d—”

“Dark!” Judith snapped her fingers. “That’s it! How could Harvey find anything without turning on the lights?”

“What?” Renie, caught up in her self-induced horror show, gaped at Judith. “Oh! Well, it wasn’t this dark when we came up here. Maybe Harvey had been rolling around on the rug for a long time.”

“It looked to me like he was eating the rug.” Judith glanced outside again as the Rankers’s house began to disappear in the snow. “His story sounded fishy from the start. I’ll bet he was looking for something else. Or maybe he was hiding something.”

“The clippings?” suggested Renie.

Judith passed a weary hand across her forehead. “I don’t know. In theory, he didn’t even know we had them. And I can’t imagine what else he’d think we had up here, which isn’t a good premise anyway, since he’d need light to look for that, too. I think I just shot my own hypothesis in the foot.” A bit clumsily, she hoisted herself onto the bed. “To hell with it. I feel like my head’s made out of wood. Give me an hour, that’s all I need. I keep thinking that if I stop pushing this damned thing, it’ll never get solved. Am I nuts?”

“Yes,” replied Renie with a shrug. “You have to be, to get by in this world.” Going to the door, she sketched her cousin a wave. “Forget everything for a while. Go to sleep. Maybe Joe will build you a snowman.”

Maybe, thought Judith as she rested her head on the pillows, Joe will build a case—against somebody, anybody, just to put an end to this mess. She kicked off her shoes, pulled up the comforter, and closed her eyes. But though she was utterly exhausted, sleep would not come. Instead, her guest list paraded across the bedroom ceiling, all of them looking guilty as sin. Even Lance, mused Judith, and all of them with a motive named Money. If, she reminded herself, just
one
member of the Brodie party—excluding Otto—had known who Wanda really was, the

150 / Mary Daheim

others might also have known. But which one? Dash was the most likely, and if he’d told Gwen, she would have told the world. But who
really
had the opportunity to poison Wanda? Ellie and Mavis had been in the kitchen when the coffee and teacups were being readied. Wanda had sat between Mavis and Otto at the dinner table. But any of the guests could have left their places—and some of them had.

Maybe all of them. Judith, as well as Renie, had been in the kitchen most of the time.

But what if Wanda’s bloodlines weren’t the motive? Who knew that Madame Gushenka was really Wanda Rakesh, former circus performer turned registered nurse? Otto, who admitted he’d spiked Wanda’s tea; Dash, who had been married to her, and might have been in on the game; Gwen, who could have seen a picture of Wanda in Dash’s belongings; Harvey, whose memory for nurses could be a lie; Ellie, who must have had occasion to meet some of her husband’s co-workers over the years; Lance, who might have met Wanda during his stay at St. Peregrine’s; Mavis, who could have seen her while visiting Lance; and Oriana, who had been related to Wanda by marriage, could have known the victim in her real guise. The Brodie party shuffled and jived its way into the eaves. Judith turned over, pounded the pillow, and cursed aloud.

The rap at the door snapped Judith to attention. Peering at her watch, she noted that it wasn’t quite four-thirty. Maybe Renie needed help after all. Or else fresh troubles had surfaced. “Come in,” she called, sitting up.

It wasn’t Renie who crossed the threshold, but Joe Flynn, looking more buoyant than Judith felt he had any right to do. “I see you took my advice,” he remarked.

“Did not,” mumbled Judith. “Renie drugged me with carrots and rutabagas.” She felt for her shoes and ran a hand through her hair. “I wasn’t asleep, I was cogitating.”

Joe sat down next to Judith on the bed. “This is a nice room. Cozy. I didn’t get a chance to study it when I was up here earlier calling you names.”

JUST DESSERTS / 151

“It was originally the servants’ quarters,” said Judith, wishing Joe had taken the armchair. “Before the First World War, my grandparents had a cook and a maid.”

“My grandparents
were
a cook and a maid,” Joe noted, taking in the bold yellow tulips of the wallpaper and the matching chintz curtains, pillow slips and comforter.

“Grandpa Maloney cooked at the old Cascadia Hotel.

Grandma was a maid there. That’s how they met.”

“I never knew that. I thought your grandfather was a streetcar conductor.”

“That was Grandpa Flynn.” Joe admired the Childe Hassam print of the Boston Common. “Whatever happened to the Grover money?”

Judith made a face. “There wasn’t that much, really. It came from a sawmill, out at the south end of the bay.

Grandpa got influenza in 1919 and his partner, Ole Pierson, fleeced him. Then Grandpa got better and tried to shoot Ole and ended up in jail. Grandma joined the Wobblies and got arrested for chaining herself to a totem pole. Naked. They were both released the same day. The neighbors hired a brass band to welcome them home. Ole wasn’t invited.”

Joe looked leery. “How come you’ve never regaled me with all this violent history until now?”

Judith shifted on the bed, inching away from Joe. “I didn’t know about it then. Mother and Aunt Deb and Uncle Al and even Uncle Corky were sort of ashamed. But one night Renie and I got Mother gassed on Singapore Slings and she spilled the beans.”

“I’ll be.” Joe was thoughtful, sitting on the bed with his fingers perched on his knees. “I always thought the Grovers were highly respectable.”

“They were. They are. They—we—just sort of have things happen to us.”

Joe nodded. “Sure. Like assault with a deadly weapon and exhibitionism and murder.” He turned to Judith, started to say something, and stopped. Judith froze, wishing Renie would show up.

152 / Mary Daheim

“Well?” Her mouth had gone dry.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in your bedroom.”

Joe’s tone was guileless, almost boyish.

“You were never in this one,” retorted Judith. “I didn’t live here back then.” She made it sound like another century.

“True.” Joe was still watching Judith closely, the gold flecks dancing in the green eyes. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Judith braced herself, mentally and physically. “What?”

Her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth.

Joe put a hand on her thigh. “It’s taken too long for this, but…” He paused, frowned, and pressed her flesh ever so gently. “Well, I can finally tell you.”

“What?” repeated Judith, cursing herself for fluttering from head to foot.

Joe’s glance was unwavering. “The M.E. has given his report. Wanda had traces of cyanide in her system, but she died from an overdose of sodium pentothal. Harvey has reported a vial of the stuff missing from his medical kit.”

Judith burst into tears.

For at least three minutes, Joe held Judith, letting the tears roll down her cheeks and onto his red and blue striped tie.

At last, she began to gulp, then sniff, and finally erupted into a spate of self-reproach:

“I’m such a jerk! I can’t believe I’m crying! I’m an ass!”

“Hey!” Joe gave her a sharp little shake, but kept her in the circle of his arms. “Listen,” he said, his face almost touching hers, “you’re a lot of things, but none of the above.

What you are most of all—and I get the feeling you keep forgetting it—is human. I don’t give a damn if you cry until Tuesday.” He took a deep breath, as if his own emotions were getting the better of him. “Tell me,” he asked, pulling back, but still holding on to Judith, “did you cry when Dan died?”

Judith’s red eyes were defiant. “No. Not really.”

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“That’s what I figured.” He moved one arm away from her, using his free hand to rub at the back of his head.

“Didn’t you care? At all?” There was a trace of awe in his voice.

Silence filled the room. The snow was coming down in big, heavy flakes, already piling up at the windowsill. Judith leaned her head back and looked down her nose at Joe. “I cared. I even miss him sometimes. But the day he died, all I could think of was that I was free. Over the years, he’d managed to trample whatever feelings I had for him. Then, when he was gone, I cared about his memory.” She shrugged, then turned flashing eyes on Joe. “I can lie and cheat and maybe steal, but I can’t be a hypocrite. If you think I’m crying for Dan McMonigle, you’re nuts!”

For once, Joe looked abashed. Absently, he caressed Judith’s shoulder and studied the pattern of the braided rug.

“I guess I always thought you were madly in love with him.

He was one hell of a good-looking guy before he piled on the pounds.”

That much was true, Judith had to admit. When it came to appearance, Dan had Joe—and most other men—beat six ways to Sunday. “Dan was tall, dark, and handsome before he became tall, dark, and then some.” She slowly shook her head at the recollection. “No,” she asserted, forcing Joe to meet her gaze, “I was never in love with him. And you’re full of crap.”

“Why?” asked Joe, looking blank.

“Because you know better,” retorted Judith, reaching out to straighten Joe’s tie and inspect the damage inflicted by her tears. “You wished I’d been in love with Dan. It would have made you feel better.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Joe spoke simply. Then the hand at her shoulder tightened, drawing her closer. “Have you forgotten what makes me feel better?” he asked, his mouth almost on hers.

Judith drew in a quick breath, started to shake her head,
154 / Mary Daheim

and then let out a little squeak as the bedroom door opened.

“Ta-rum-pah-pah, ta-rum-pah—oh, rats!” exclaimed Renie.

“Goodbye!”

“Renie!” screamed Judith. “Come back!”.

“Jude-girl!” Joe sounded dismal, his arms still outstretched.

But Judith had managed to escape, half stumbling across the room. She yanked open the door, coming face-to-face with a chagrined Renie. “I’m sorry, I had no idea…” she began in miserable apology.

Judith waved her into silence. “Never mind. It could have been a horrible mistake.” Of course it could, she lectured herself. She was exhausted, upset, in no frame of mind to make vital moral and emotional decisions. Where was logic?