Gone With the Win: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery (6 page)

Judith looked into his curious green eyes. “Believe it or not, I have no idea. We think it was for Mrs. Frosch. Somebody left on a gurney and it wasn’t Mr. Frosch or the young man I assume is their son.”

Joe took a quick swallow of soda. “You mean it could be a mere medical emergency?”

Judith shrugged. “It happens.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Arlene called out from the hallway. “Naomi and I found out why the front door was left open.” She entered the kitchen and sat down by Ruby. “A young woman was in the living room. We hadn’t even started to look at . . . I mean,
look around
to make sure everything was in order—the stove and faucets not on, the pilot light—”

“Stop!” Judith cried. “Who was it?”

“How do I know?” Arlene shot back. “Apparently she’s either the wife or the girlfriend of their son, Brick. Her name is Elaine, but she prefers Lainie, with an
i
and
e
at the end. Of her name, I mean.”

“So,” Judith asked when Arlene had stopped for breath, “what happened to Elma? It
was
Elma, right?”

“Yes,” Arlene replied. “Elma was suffering from an overdose of antacids. No gallbladder, as you may recall.”

Joe looked bemused. “Arlene, that’s bull. Nobody ODs on antacids. You’d throw up before you could do that.”

Arlene grimaced. “I wanted to throw up hearing about it, but that’s what Lainie told us. You don’t think Naomi and I aren’t suspicious? Are you going to notify Vivian about what happened to her tenant?”

“Ah . . .” Joe glanced at Judith. “I doubt it. Maybe I’ll find out what
really
happened first. There’s no need to bother my ex about it yet.”

“Right,” Judith muttered. “She might take to drink. More than usual, that is.”

Joe looked askance, but kept his mouth shut.

Arlene, however, wasn’t finished. “Naomi and I think Brick has spent some time in jail.”

“Why is that?” Joe asked calmly.

“Because of Lainie’s tattoos.” Arlene pointed to her forearm. “She had several tattoos with slashes through them like days crossed out inside of hearts. I asked her what they meant. I wasn’t being nosy, I wanted to show her I was a kind neighbor. She said they marked off the
time
Brick was
away
. Doesn’t that sound as if he’d been in prison?”

“Maybe,” Judith suggested, “he was in the military.”

Arlene bristled. “Then why didn’t she have an American flag or an anchor or an army patch as a tattoo?”

Ruby finally spoke up. “You could be right. Mom knew a woman at work who marked off the months on the fridge while her guy was in the slammer. Vehicular assault. She wondered what that fridge would look like when he got out, but the woman divorced him before he was sprung.”

Joe put his arm around Judith. “I can’t believe you lived in the Thurlow District all those years. Why didn’t you ask me to liberate you?”

Judith glared at him. “You know damned well why I didn’t. I thought you were wildly happy with Herself. How did I know you’d tried to call me after she hijacked you, but Mother kept hanging up after telling you I was dead?”

“But you weren’t,” Arlene pointed out. “That was very naughty of your mother to tell such a lie.”

“Skip it,” Judith snapped, darting dirty looks at Arlene and Joe.

“I know when I’m not wanted,” Joe murmured. “I’m taking my soda and going upstairs. Let me know when lunch is ready.”

Arlene was right behind him. “Check Brick Frosch’s criminal record, Joe. Carl needs to know as the block watch captain.”

“I like her,” Ruby said as soon as Arlene made her exit.

“How can you not?” Judith said, smiling. She paused, hearing an exchange between the Porcinis as they left for the day. “It’s going on noon. I’d better start lunch.”

“I can help,” Ruby volunteered. “I’d like to meet your mother.”

“You would?” Judith grimaced. “I mean, sure, why not? I was thinking of something you might do about your own mother. I don’t suppose you kept any of the newspaper accounts of her murder?”

“No,” Ruby said, getting up from the table. “It was too awful.”

“You might check out the media archives on my computer. Some detail could trigger a memory that might be meaningful in retrospect.”

“I suppose.” Ruby moved aimlessly around the kitchen. “Is Mr. . . . I mean, Joe really taking on my case? What does he charge?”

“If,” Judith said, removing a loaf of light rye from the bread box, “he’s doing this for Woody Price, he won’t charge you anything. Consider your own interest a throw-in.”

“That sounds wrong,” Ruby declared. “If I hadn’t come here, Joe wouldn’t be doing this.”

“Joe and Woody would probably revisit the case eventually. Besides, you’ll get to meet the Prices. They’re wonderful people.”

Ruby looked wistful. “Wonderful people . . . funny, but I didn’t think there were any of those left. Until I met you, I mean.”

Judith didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Chapter 6

T
he rest of Thursday passed uneventfully. Phyliss showed up shortly after noon, full of complaints, but praising the Lord for her deliverance from the metro transit system, which she likened to the Babylonian Captivity.

Judith made a trip to Falstaff’s and Holliday’s Drug Store. Joe had an afternoon meeting with a prospective client across the lake. Ruby spent all afternoon going through the local newspaper files and taking notes. Gertrude threatened to kill Aunt Deb after they’d gone set doubled and redoubled at their Holy Childhood bridge club. Emmy O’Flapdoodle—not her real name, but that’s what Judith’s mother always called her—and Marie Goetzenheimer had to separate the Grover sisters-in-law to keep their hostess, Agatha Dunze, from calling the police. In other words, it had been a normal day at Hillside Manor.

“Gosh,” Renie said over the phone that evening, “Mom was actually
mad
at Aunt Gert. Usually, she just laughs her off and tells her to stop taking the game so seriously.”

“You know how Mother prefers to focus on her card games,” Judith replied. “She plays to win. And Aunt Deb does go on.”

“So what? Mom likes the social part. She doesn’t give a hoot who wins. Speaking of hoots, I ran into Arlene at the hardware store this afternoon. I hear you had some excitement this morning. Any news on the rental occupants?”

“Joe checked the 911 call and found it apparently wasn’t serious. I relayed the message to Arlene.”

“Oh? Then how come Margo Holliday told me at the drugstore that she heard it was life-threatening?”

“She did?” Judith was surprised. “I was at Holliday’s this afternoon, too. I must’ve missed you and Margo. I didn’t go back to the pharmacy section. Was Margo breaking customer confidentiality?”

“Hardly,” Renie replied. “She heard it from that woman who lives in the corner house. What’s her name? Band-Aid or something like that?”

“Bhandra,” Judith said thoughtfully. “They just moved in. The rest of us are putting together a welcome basket for them.”

Renie laughed. “With a copy of your sleuthing résumé?”

“Not funny,” Judith snapped. And hung up on her cousin.

J
udith didn’t have time to go over Ruby’s notes on the cold case until after the departing guests had checked out at eleven. She and Ruby sat in the living room while Phyliss Rackley scrubbed the kitchen floor. Ruby had jotted down a copious amount of information, but none of it struck Judith as helpful.

“The most important part,” she said to Ruby, “are the names of witnesses and persons of interest.” She scanned the list:

Myrna Grissom, manager of Peebles Place

Erma Schram, aide at Peebles

Luella Crabbe, next-door neighbor

Freddy Mae Morris, friend

Frank & Dorothy Morris, parents of Freddy Mae

Darrell (Duke) Swisher, Opal Tooms’s fiancé, construction worker

Jorge Gonzales, racetrack trainer

Jimmy Tooms, Opal’s ex-husband

Hector Sparks, nursing home patient

Marla & Lee Watkins, daughter and son-in-law of Hector Sparks

Ruby and Ozzie Tooms, victim’s children

“Did your brother come home when your mother was killed?”

Ruby nodded. “Ozzie stuck around for over a week to help with Mom’s funeral. The cops asked if he knew anybody who might have it in for her. He didn’t, any more than I did, except for Mr. and Mrs. Watkins. While he was on leave, he proposed to Freddy Mae.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” Ruby laughed. “She accepted, but they didn’t get married for another year or so. He had to go overseas. They’re still together. I’m surprised.” Her amused expression faded. “Heck, I’m surprised anybody sticks together these days.”

“Do they have children?”

Ruby shook her head. “Turned out Freddy Mae couldn’t have kids. They thought about adopting, but being in the service, they moved a lot. I guess they figured maybe it was just as well not to have a family.”

Judith studied the names again. “I don’t see anything that jumps out at me. Duke had an alibi. Your dad was in jail. The rest . . .” She swept a hand over the tablet. “Just coworkers, neighbors, and the nursing home’s hired help. Oh—what about Hector’s daughter and her husband? What cleared them of suspicion?”

“They were both at work,” Ruby said. “Lee was a bus driver and Marla worked at a nursery—The Garden of Eden. You remember it?”

Judith wrinkled her nose. “Yes. It wasn’t much of a nursery and the florist part had a poor selection. Is it still around?”

“I don’t know. Mom always called it The Garden of Weedin’ because the plants she bought there often had weeds in them. You couldn’t tell until you got the plants out of the containers. She liked to work in the yard. Thought it was good exercise.”

“I like to garden,” Judith said. “When I have time.” She sighed. “I’m not much help. How many of these people are still around?”

“Gosh—I don’t really know. Hector Sparks is probably long gone. He was questioned, but only had good things to say about Mom.”

“Where’s The Persian Cat located?”

“The Lockjaw Tavern’s old site. Maybe you remember it.”

“Vaguely,” Judith replied. “It made The Meat & Mingle look good. So did another old dive just down the street—Spooner’s Schooners.”

“I never was inside either of those places.” Ruby frowned. “When they were still there, you could look through the windows and . . .” She pressed her fist against her lips. “You can see inside the café now, too,” she continued after a long pause. “What
did
I see?”

“Yesterday?” Judith prompted. “Or a long time ago?”

Ruby held her head. “I’m not sure. It was a man with kind of a hooked nose and a jutting chin.” Her hands fell away and she stared helplessly at Judith. “Why do I remember seeing him? Am I nuts?”

Judith shook her head. “No. I think you’re starting to remember things. Don’t push it. It’s a good sign. By the way, if you need to have any clothes washed, just put them in the hamper inside the armoire in the hall between Rooms One and Three.”

Ruby nodded. “Thanks. I still feel as if I’m imposing.”

Judith smiled. “I often let guests who stay a few nights do that. It’s an uphill climb and a long walk to the nearest Laundromat. Besides, you don’t need distractions. Just focus on what you remember.”

But Ruby had no more memories that night. And Judith had no insight into that list of names that rang no bells, sounded no whistles, and yet somehow set off an alarm at the back of her brain.

W
here,” Joe asked the next morning while Judith was dishing up scrambled eggs for the guests, “did Ruby go so early?”

“She took breakfast out to Mother, who’ll be glad of the company.”

Joe cocked his head to one side. “She will?”

“You know Mother can be quite charming when she meets new people,” Judith said, putting a cover on the pewter chafing dish. “It’s almost as if she turns into a different person.”

“You mean somebody I might like?”

“Joe . . .” Judith heard the first of the guests entering the dining room. “Never mind. Help me with the French toast and the muffins. Oh—bring some ketchup and the syrup.”

Twenty minutes later, all of the guests had come downstairs. Joe was putting more toast on a plate. “Is Ruby still with your allegedly charming mother?”

Judith nodded. “It’s been almost an hour, but no doubt Mother is exuding the charm she so cleverly hides from us.”

“Too incredible to contemplate,” he murmured. “I thought I’d go over the case files with Ruby this afternoon. I should take another look before Woody and Sondra get here this evening.”

“Good idea. Maybe I should sit in on that.”

“Fine,” Joe said, before taking the toast out to the dining room just as Phyliss appeared from the basement.

“Hallelujah!” the cleaning woman exclaimed, carrying a full laundry hamper through the back hall. “The Lord showed me where to find that new bottle of bleach. Otherwise, I’d never get those brown stains out of Mr. Flynn’s handkerchief.”

Judith turned sharply to stare at Phyliss. “What stains?”

“I told you, the white one in the wash. Coffee or tea, maybe. Hard to get out sometimes. It’s Mr. Flynn’s right? It’s got the initial
F
on it.”

“Joe doesn’t have any initialed handkerchiefs,” Judith said.

Phyliss set the hamper down under the open end of the kitchen counter. “Then it must be a guest’s. You want to see it? It’s not ironed yet.” She leaned down, her white sausage curls flopping every which way. “Got it. Clean as a repented sinner’s soul.”

Judith took the rumpled handkerchief from Phyliss. It was a bit frayed around the edges, but the stamped initial was still visible. “Where did you find it? I mean, was it in one of the rooms?”

Phyliss’s plain, lean face looked blank. “I’m not sure. Could be. I didn’t have time to do all the laundry yesterday, only your own stuff and your mother’s. This is mostly from the guest rooms. When I strip the beds, I don’t pay attention to what’s between the sheets. It might give me sinful thoughts.”

Joe returned from the dining room. “Heading for the barber to get my hair cut,” he said, trying to edge around Judith and Phyliss. “Anything you need on top of the hill?”

“Nothing I can think of,” Judith replied. “Is this yours?” She held out the handkerchief.

“No,” Joe said. “You know I don’t have initials on mine.” He kissed Judith’s cheek. “Got to go. Barber appointment’s at nine-thirty.”

Phyliss looked worried. “Satan’s at work here,” she declared.

“I doubt it,” Judith said, seeing Joe almost collide with Ruby at the back door. “Maybe our guest knows something about it.”

Phyliss turned to look behind her. “A man’s hankie? She doesn’t look like a man to me. Satan’s in our midst. One of those changelings, maybe.” She shuddered, the sausage curls dancing along her furrowed brow. “I’m going back to the basement.”

“What’s with her?” Ruby asked as Phyllis raced down the hall.

“I told you yesterday, she’s . . . a bit different. Very religious.” Judith presented the handkerchief. “Is this yours?”

Ruby shot Judith a puzzled look. “No. Why would it be?”

“It was in the laundry.”

Ruby looked Judith in the eye. “I’ve never seen it before.”

Judith shrugged. “A careless guest, probably.” A quick recollection of the current and previous guest lists contained no one with a first or last name beginning with
F
. But she carefully placed the handkerchief in a drawer. “How was Mother?”

Ruby beamed. “Awesome! She’s so full of life. You’re lucky to have her.”

“I am,” Judith admitted with a pang of guilt. Opal Tooms hadn’t reached half of Gertrude’s age.

“A little forgetful,” Ruby said, pouring herself some coffee. “She insisted she didn’t remember your old neighborhood.”

“She never saw it,” Judith said, after glancing into the dining room to make sure her guests didn’t need attention. “Dan cut me off from my family during the years we lived there.”

“Jeez, you really did have a bad time!” Ruby shook her head. “To think I feel sorry for myself. After all the sad stories I’ve heard in bars, I should know better.”

“You expect sad stories in bars,” Judith said. “I heard my share of them while I was living out on my own.”

The phone rang. Judith picked it up off the counter. It was a reservation request from an Oregon couple for the Thanksgiving weekend. Luckily, Judith had one room left. She jotted down the information, thanked the female caller, and hung up.

The rest of the morning moved along swiftly. Joe returned from the barber, his hair noticeably shorter—and, Judith realized with a pang, more of his forehead was bared. By eleven, all the departing guests had checked out. The rain had stopped, so Ruby had gone for a walk, hoping to clear her head and retrieve her memory. Phyliss was upstairs cleaning the guest rooms. After Judith had taken lunch to Gertrude, she checked e-mail for reservations and found two more requests, both for early December. By two o’clock, Ruby had returned, her memory not improved, but her spirits lifted by the views from Heraldsgate Hill.

“Time to talk about the case,” Joe announced from the kitchen doorway. “Living room, ladies.”

Ruby was just finishing lunch while Judith was contemplating how long to cook the pork loin she was serving her dinner guests. “Start without me,” she said. “I have to figure out what to do with the entrée. It might take me a few minutes.”

She had made her decision ten minutes later when Renie stomped through the back door. “I had to run errands at the bottom of the hill,” she said, flopping into a kitchen chair. “Halfway up the Counterbalance, I decided you might need some help. What can I do?”

“Nothing, really,” Judith said. “I chose a fairly easy recipe.”

“Ha! There’s no such thing.” Renie lifted the lid of the sheep-shaped cookie jar. “What’s in here? Dog biscuits?”

Judith grimaced. “I haven’t baked recently. They’re macaroons. I think.”

Renie cocked an ear in the direction of the living room. “I haven’t talked to you much lately. That design for Nordquist’s spring catalog has kept me busy. They want a theme and they can’t decide whether it should be inspired by Monet, Manet, or Mandalay. Do I hear Joe?”

“Yes,” Judith said, crushing garlic with rosemary. “Oh! Remember Ruby from Little Bavaria?”

“Ruby?” Renie’s round face looked momentarily puzzled. “Was she one of the people I got into a fight with during Oktoberfest?”

“She was the bartender and waitress we got to know whose dad was a Meat & Mingle customer.”

“Right.” Renie grinned. “I actually liked her. Why do you ask?”

“I forgot to tell you she’s a guest.”

Renie didn’t respond. She merely stared at her cousin until Judith felt compelled to speak again. “Okay, okay,” she said, putting aside the garlic-and-rosemary paste. “I didn’t mean to hold out on you. It’s a long story.” She sat down across from Renie. “I’ll keep it short.”

“No, you won’t,” Renie retorted. “I knew damned well something was going on besides Mrs. Frosch getting a gut ache. Dish.”