Here Comes the Bribe (11 page)

“It's a civil matter.” Stuart frowned. “That is, it's actually a hearing to prevent criminal charges being brought against my client.” He sat down in Renie's vacant chair. “I'm rather shrewd at reading people's faces. You have a very sympathetic countenance, Mrs. Flynn. What do you make of the events that have transpired here since we arrived?”

“Tragic,” Judith responded. “Puzzling, since Millie seemed in good health. You must know Dr. Kilmore. I assume she'd have some inkling if Millie had any serious health problems.”

“I don't really know Sophie,” Stuart said. “She's been friends with the Schmucks for some time. Bear in mind, I'm merely
Clark's stepfather. I don't really know him all that well. Cynthia and I have only been married for three years.”

“Did you know his father? That is, Cynthia's first husband?”

“No. They'd been divorced for . . .” Stuart's long, sallow face grew thoughtful. “I think about six or seven years. I believe he moved from L.A. after the decree was final. Cynthia lost track of him. A good loss, from her point of view. Unhappy marriages are only good for lawyers who handle the more contentious breakups. This is my first foray into matrimony. Cynthia and I have a most blissful union.”

Judith tried to imagine the rigid Stuart Wicks succumbing to bliss. She couldn't. Nor did Cynthia seem like the type who would surrender to unbridled passion.
Of course,
Judith reminded herself,
you never really know about people . . .

“. . . her own profession,” Stuart was saying. “Don't you agree?”

“Well, yes, in general,” Judith replied, not having heard the first part of whatever Stuart had been droning on about. In fact, she wondered how a judge or a jury could stay awake during his presentations. “How long has Cynthia held that job title?” she asked, hoping the question would enlighten her about whatever it was that Mrs. Wicks did for a living.

Stuart pondered briefly. “Six years? After divorcing Clark's father, she went back to school and earned her master's degree in family counseling at UCLA.”

“That was smart of her,” Judith said. “Her work must often be rewarding. Helping others, that is.”

“Indeed,” Stuart concurred, “though it is fraught with difficulties and sometimes even danger. The term ‘family counseling' may sound benign, but I assure you that her job also has its hazards. Some of her clients are virtually deranged.”

Judith saw Renie coming back into the kitchen. “Deranged?” Renie asked. “Hey, coz, how about your zany mother wrestling with Sweetums to stop him from destroying the stuffed donkey she got years ago as Democratic precinct committee woman? I
stopped her just in time before she strangled the wretched beast. Sweetums must be a Republicat.”

“Ah . . .” Judith began, “I don't think you've officially met Stuart Wicks.”

“Probably not,” Renie said in an indifferent tone as she tossed her empty Pepsi can in the garbage can under the sink. “I've never met Sidney Wicks either, though I watched him play basketball for UCLA and later in the NBA.” She gazed disparagingly at Stuart. “You're barely six feet. You'd never make the team. If you could run, maybe you could get a job as a referee. That's what our Uncle Al did after his playing days were over.”

Stuart took umbrage, his sallow face taking on a hint of color. “You are out of order! Have you no manners?”

Renie looked all around herself. “Gosh, I guess I left them in the toolshed. Maybe Aunt Gert will find them. She lost
her
manners seventy years ago. Does anybody here except me know how to spell ‘pompous'?”

“Coz,” Judith said in a beleaguered voice, “could you please not act like you came onstage in the middle of a really bad play? Stuart and I were trying to have a conversation.”

Judith's guest got to his feet. “I believe that's my exit line. If,” he went on, glaring at Renie, “we were in court, I'd cite you for contempt.”

Renie merely stared unblinkingly at Stuart until he stopped glaring and left the kitchen.

“You,” Judith said in her most severe voice, “can be a real twit sometimes. No matter what you may think about this current bunch of guests, can't you at least be civil?”

Renie let out a big sigh and looked pained. “I don't suffer fools gladly. Alas, you often do because you're so damned softhearted. Yes, I know these people are paying customers, but they're taking advantage of your good nature. I've spent my whole life watching out for you, but I can't always be around. When I am, I tend to be overly protective.”

Judith's face softened. “I know. I appreciate it. But sometimes it's embarrassing.”

“You're too darned sensitive,” Renie said, though her tone was benevolent. “Anything new from Woody?”

“If there is,” Judith replied, “Bill will find out before we do. Joe thought Woody might call him this afternoon. Of course it
is
a Sunday.”

“Right,” Renie agreed. “Even a police chief shouldn't have to work on the weekend unless the whole city is under siege. Other municipal employees don't work weekends.”

Judith nodded. “That's true. In my job, weekends are usually the busiest . . .” She stopped, frowning. “That's odd. A city inspector came by yesterday to ask about the firefighters' call here. He wanted to find out what had happened and even checked the oven.”

Renie grimaced slightly. “That
is
strange. Did he show you his license?”

“No, but he had a badge with his name on it.” Judith paused, trying to remember what the ID looked like. “It looked very official, though I don't think it had his picture on it . . . Damn! I wonder if he was a phony. But why?”

“You're the sleuth,” Renie said. “You work it out. Got any ideas?”

But for once, Judith didn't have a clue.

S
o,” Renie said after she'd swiped some Brie out of the fridge and Judith had finished recounting the seemingly innocuous events of the day so far, “you're trying to solve what might not even be a murder. Why not just kick back and wait for the autopsy report?”

“Fact,” Judith stated, one finger pressed on the table. “There were traces of possible poison in her mouth. What does that suggest to you?”

“‘Possible poison' is not a fact,” Renie argued. “It's a surmise.”

Judith was silent for a moment, but her dark eyes snapped. “What about my instincts? When have I ever been wrong about a homicide?”

Renie winced. “Wouldn't you like to be for just once?”

“Well . . . yes, I suppose I . . .” The phone rang. Judith got up to fetch the receiver off the counter.

Woody Price was the caller. He greeted Judith with his usual low-key warmth, then asked if Joe was available.

“He's at Bill's house,” she informed him. “Can I take a message?” Her voice took on an eager note.

Woody chuckled. “I know you're as curious as that ornery cat of yours, but I have to deliver the goods to my old partner in crime. I don't want to bother him if he's visiting with Bill. Have
him call me when he gets home, okay? I actually don't have all that much to tell him, since most of my out-of-town sources aren't available on a Sunday.”

“You mean I get zip?” Judith said in a forlorn voice.

“Oh . . .” Woody hesitated. “I have an officer whose father is a Key Largo Bank executive. I found out that the Schmucks have quite a lot of money in that bank, both here and in L.A.”

“I guess that's not a surprise,” Judith said. “They showed up in a big limo. I had to admit that Rodney doesn't strike me as someone who could handle a job that made him wealthy.”

“Actually, I don't know that he does,” Woody responded. “The ten-figure account is in Mrs. Schmuck's name.”

“Oh, good grief!” Judith exclaimed. “That's a lot of money! And only one bank reporting in so far?”

Woody chuckled again. “I only told you that so you wouldn't worry about them skipping out without paying—or if they already did, the check won't bounce and the credit cards are solid. I've got to go, Judith. Sondra needs some help in the garden. She's digging up a redwood. At least that's what it sounds like.”

Judith thanked him and hung up. “That,” she declared, “was most interesting!”

Renie pretended to yawn. “I guess so. How would I know, except from your gaga expression.”

“Bottom line,” Judith explained, “is that Millie is—was, I mean—worth ten figures.”

“Really?” Renie said indifferently. “She wasn't in bad shape, but I didn't think her figure was that great. As for her bottom—”

Judith cut her off. “I'm talking about her bank account, dopey. She may have had at least a billion dollars in one account at Key Largo.”

Renie shook her head in disbelief. “Nobody has a billion dollars in one account anywhere. Rich people have it stashed all over the place. Furthermore, it'd take more than a precinct captain to find out where the money was in such a short time.”

“All I know is what Woody told me,” Judith said with a touch of indignation.

“Even Woody can be bowled over, I suppose,” Renie remarked. “Who was his source?”

Judith relayed Woody's explanation of how he'd found out about the Schmucks' wealth, but realized it sounded a little iffy. “Still, Woody's no fool,” she added.

Renie nodded halfheartedly. “True. They had to have some big bucks to make offers for the properties around here. What did Rodney say he did for a living? If I heard, I've forgotten.”

“He claims to be a motivational speaker.”

Renie practically fell out of the chair. “That dim bulb couldn't motivate me to grab a lifeline if I were drowning! And I can't swim.”

“I never figured out why you couldn't learn to swim,” Judith said. “You took lessons before we sailed to Europe back in 1964.”

“I wanted to be ready in case the ship sank,” Renie declared. “It turned out I can't even float. The instructor told me I have no center of gravity. That's not a character flaw, you know.”

Judith merely shook her head. “Never mind all that. Though I agree, Rodney doesn't strike me as . . . motivational.” She tensed as she heard voices coming from the vicinity of the front hall.
The guests?
she mouthed at Renie.

Her cousin shrugged. A moment later the voices faded, but Elsie Kindred entered the kitchen via the dining room.

The reverend's wife was a tiny woman, barely five feet tall, pale and spare as a plucked chicken. Indeed, her graying auburn hair was combed into a wave that looked like an avian crest.

“Do you have any bandages?” she asked in a fretful voice. “My husband was injured while on his walk around the neighborhood.”

“How did that happen?” Judith inquired, getting up from the chair.

Elsie flinched. “He encountered someone who was very rude. Out of good Christian charity, George asked why the man was so
troubled. The poor soul shoved my dear husband and he fell on a garden gnome. The statue's pointed hat pierced his leg.”

Judith went to a drawer at the far end of the counter. “I assume it's not a big puncture. That is, gnomes, being small, wear little hats.”

“That's so,” Elsie agreed, her hands fluttering a bit. “If you have some antiseptic salve, I'd appreciate it. Alas, I didn't bring my medical kit with me. An oversight, of course, but we made our departure in haste. I like to be prepared for any eventuality.”

“Do you always bring along first aid when you travel?” Judith asked, handing over an assortment of bandages.

“Yes,” Elsie replied. “I'm a nurse. You never know when you'll need emergency supplies.” She smiled tremulously and went out through the swinging half doors.

“Holy crap!” Renie muttered. “Is she a real person—or just a human exigency?”

“She's a miracle maker,” Judith said. “Somehow her presence made you keep your big mouth shut.”

“I was too caught up in Elsie's ‘be prepared' recital. Why did they leave in haste? Fleeing their creditors?”

“Good question.” Judith sat down again. “Who has a garden gnome around here?”

If Renie was surprised by the question, she didn't show it. “Ah . . . offhand, I couldn't tell you. I've got only religious statuary and a curled-up cat sculpture in the yard. I think somebody on our side of the hill may have one, but that'd be a long trek for the reverend's walk. Are you thinking somebody coshed him for being overzealous?”

“It's possible,” Judith allowed. “I understand the urge to do that.”

“Was Kindred really proselytizing or making offers on houses?”

“He could do both, I suppose,” Judith replied. “But I thought he only bothered people in the cul-de-sac. Maybe
we
should go for a walk. It's not raining. Yet.”

“A walk?” Renie looked horrified. “You know I don't like to walk. I drive a car, and if I can't do that, I take a taxi, and if that's not possible, I stay home.”

“You walked all over the beach when we were up at Whoopee Island in January,” Judith reminded her cousin.

“That's different. It was mostly sand. That's why it's called a beach.” Renie crossed her arms and turned sulky.

Judith stood up. “I'm going to take a walk. You can follow me in your car—you spoiled brat.”

“Ohhh . . .” With great reluctance, Renie rose from the chair. “Fine. I'll go with you. But if I get blisters, it's your fault.”

The cousins headed out through the front door. Gabe Porter was mowing his lawn; the cousins waved. The Ericsons were pulling into their driveway; the cousins waved again.

Renie still looked grumpy, but her tone was reasonably amicable when she asked if Judith had interrogated the neighbors.

“I haven't, really, except for Arlene,” she said. “They got the spiel from Kindred about an offer for their house. But I don't think the reverend had gone farther than the cul-de-sac unless he expanded his web when he found out nobody close by wants to sell. Or maybe Kindred's seeking new members for his congregation.”

“That may be
his
scam,” Renie remarked as they reached the sidewalk of the east-west street. “Hey, why is that guy with the sunglasses sitting there in his car? Is he lost?”

Judith slowed her step, peering across the street. “He looks familiar. Now, where have I . . .” She stopped as the man started his white Chevrolet Camaro, pulled away from the curb, and drove off in a burst of speed. “What now? Did we scare him?”

“We don't look
that
bad,” Renie said.

“Speak for yourself,” Judith murmured. “As usual, your casual wear looks like a casualty. Why are you wearing a ratty sweatshirt that has Pluto on it?”

“Because I couldn't find one with Goofy?”

“
You're
goofy.” Judith stopped in her tracks. “I think I know who that guy in the car is. I could be wrong, but even with the sunglasses, he looked like the city inspector who came yesterday.”

“Was he driving a car like that?”

“I didn't see his car.” Judith kept walking, but more slowly. “In fact, it should've been parked in front of the house. And if he was a real inspector, it would've had the city logo on it. I'd have noticed that.”

“So,” Renie said, “you got conned? But why?”

“I've no idea. All he did was look at the oven.”

“Are you sure of that?”

The cousins had almost reached the corner. “I made sure he closed the door behind him. But I didn't follow him outside. Now I'm worried. I should have Woody check him out tomorrow. Hey, the Flahertys live here,” she said, gesturing at the big white colonial house on the corner. “They're fellow SOTs. Let's ask them if Kindred stopped by.”

“I don't think I know them,” Renie said.

“Then you're about to get introduced. Be nice.” Judith led the way up the steps to the front porch. She used the brass ring in a lion's mouth to knock on the blue front door.

A pretty, fortyish woman whose dark blond hair was in some disarray appeared after almost a minute had passed. “Mrs. Flynn?” she said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm cleaning cupboards. Our oldest son, Peter, is coming back from his first semester at State University later this month. Neal is out in the backyard.”

Judith recalled that Neal was Mr. Flaherty. Unfortunately, she'd forgotten his wife's first name. “This is my cousin Serena Jones,” Judith said. “She and Bill are also parish members.”

The two women shook hands. “Yes,” Mrs. Flaherty said, “I've seen you at Mass. Your husband is a lector, isn't he? He has a wonderful voice. And it carries so well. Some of the other lectors tend to mumble. I don't think all of the elderly parishioners can hear a word they're saying.”

Renie smiled graciously at the compliment. “He took voice lessons. His original intention was to become an actor, but he changed gears later on. Call me Renie. Your first name is . . . ?”

“Angie.” She turned to Judith. “What can I do for you two? Is the parish holding some kind of event that I haven't heard about? Neal and I were gone for the weekend and just got back a little while ago. We went to evening Mass last night in Port Grumble.”

“It's nothing to do with the parish,” Judith replied, realizing that the Flahertys probably hadn't heard about her latest disaster. “You may know I own the B&B in the cul-de-sac. I hate to say this, but my current guests are a little odd. One of them is kind of a far-out preacher who's been bothering the neighbors around Hillside Manor. I was wondering if he'd been here, but of course you haven't been home.”

Angie uttered a tight little laugh. “He
was
here. While we were gone, that is. The only reason I know is that he left a flyer under the mat. Frankly, his church sounds like a scam.”

“I'm not surprised,” Judith said. “I've never seen any information about his beliefs or practices. Do you still have the flyer?”

“Yes, in the recycling,” Angie replied. “But we haven't yet taken the wastebasket out to the bin. Let me get it. Would you like to wait inside?”

Judith assured her they didn't mind staying on the porch. “You're behaving like a mature adult,” she whispered to Renie. “I'm stunned. I hardly recognize you.”

“You know I have excellent manners—when I need them,” Renie declared. “How else do you think I manage to keep my clients so that I can earn a living with my graphic-design business? Egad, sometimes I have to deal with the mayor and the county executive and a whole slew of VIPs. Of course some of them have crappy manners, too. Did I tell you about the deputy mayor putting a whoopee cushion under the police chief's . . .” She stopped as Angie reappeared.

“It's kind of wrinkled,” she said, handing the sheet of pale
yellow paper with bright green printing. “I did skim what it says, but it sounded off-the-wall to me.”

Judith smiled wryly. “The reverend is that way. Thanks, Angie. I'm sorry to bother you.”

“No problem,” the other woman insisted. “I see that car across the street is gone. The guy pulled up right after we got home, so it's been there for a couple of hours. I couldn't figure out what he was doing. Neal noticed that he seemed to be taking notes. Do you think he's a burglar?”

“If he is,” Judith said, “he's driving a much nicer car than I do. In fact, it looked almost new.”

“You may be right,” Angie agreed. “He could be a real estate agent.”

“Could be,” Judith responded. But she didn't add that in the past three days real estate had taken on an unreal feeling for her.