Hocus Croakus (9 page)

“Oh, please do!” Judith exclaimed, all but groveling. “I'm sure the electrician will be here by then.”

Ruefully, Judith watched the refrigerator truck drive out of the cul-de-sac. She was on her way back to the kitchen when the phone rang. This time she answered it on its base by the sink.

“Me again,” said Bart Bednarik, who had managed to lose the static of the previous call. “I hadn't gotten onto the bridge yet when I phoned you earlier, so I decided to drive around the lake. I'm making much better time.”

“Good,” Judith said in relief. “How soon will you be here?”

“Well…that's the thing. I won't be at your place today after all.”

“What?”

“Hey, don't blame me,” he retorted as Judith heard the hum of traffic in the background. “Here's the deal. You know the van that overturned on the bridge?”

“No, I don't,” Judith replied coldly. “What about it?”

“Artie Chow was driving it. He's on his way to the hospital with a possible broken collarbone. I got a call from his office just a couple of minutes ago. It looks like I'll have to find another electrician.”

“Will he be okay?” Judith asked, feeling slightly more pity for Artie than for herself.

“Sure, sure, Artie's tough,” Bart asserted. “But he won't be able to work for a while, and he runs a one-man show when it comes to older houses like yours. It won't be easy, but I'll see what I can do.”

Judith held her head with the hand that wasn't holding the phone. “Can you get one by the time Jim and Curly get back to install the fridge?”

“Screw you, moron!” Bart yelled.

“I beg your pardon?” Judith's temper was about to explode.

“Sorry, some guy in an SUV cut me off. What time are the guys due back?”

Judith glanced at the old schoolhouse clock that was lying on the kitchen counter. It was just after eleven-thirty. “One o'clock?” she ventured.

“Oh, boy…I doubt it. Anybody who's any good is all sewed up for the day. Maybe for two or three days. I'll have to get back to you on that. Got to go, I'm pulling in for my lunch break.” Bart rang off.

Judith was fit to be tied, in a quandary and wishing she'd gone to Antarctica where she'd be cold but at least she'd be incommunicado. Sitting in the chair by her computer, she tried to figure out her next move. Worse yet, she was hungry and there was no food in the house.

She was still calculating her options when the attack came. Her assailant jumped on her back, sank his claws into her flesh, and let out a fierce battle cry.

“Sweetums, you beast!” Judith cried, frantically trying to get the cat to loosen his hold.

“Mee-ooww-rr!” Sweetums growled as Judith finally freed herself and held the animal in front of her.

“Hey, I'm sorry we had to go away,” she said, gasping for breath. “You're supposed to be having fun with the Dooley kids.”

Sweetums spat in Judith's face, wriggled free, and landed on the kitchen floor where he sat with his tail curled around him and scornfully stared at Judith with his beady eyes.

Judith stared back. The contest went on for almost a full minute before Judith surrendered and looked away. With a triumphant swish of his plumelike tail, Sweetums sashayed out to the pantry.

“Why not?” Judith murmured. She followed the cat, retrieved a can of his favorite food, and took it over to
the electric can opener on the far counter. Nothing happened. Judith had forgotten that the electricity in the kitchen was turned off. Rummaging in a drawer, she found her old-fashioned manual can opener.

“I feel like joining you,” she said, filling a bowl with cat food.

The phone rang again. “Bart here,” he said, sounding as if his mouth was full. “We got lucky. Hardy Mills can come out tomorrow morning.”

Judith hesitated. “That's the best you can do?”

“Yep. Hardy's a good one, as good as Artie.”

Hardy and Artie, Artie and Hardy. Judith's headache had returned at full strength. “I guess that's what we'll have to do,” she said with a sigh.

“One little problem, though,” Bart said. “I got hold of Jim and Curly. They can't make it tomorrow, they're booked solid with some condos in the north end. They'll try to be at your place first thing Thursday morning.”

“Okay.” There seemed no room for argument. “Let me know of any more changes. What's happening with the countertop? That's why I came back to the city, remember?”

“The countertop?” Bart sounded baffled. “Oh—
that
countertop. I'm waiting for a jingle from Ansonia Appliance. They're the only ones in town who might have the size you want in their warehouse. I should hear back by two. If they've got it, we can drive out to the south end and have a look-see.”

“What's the point in me looking at it if that's the only one available?” Judith demanded.

Bart didn't respond right away. “You got a point. None, I guess. But what if you don't like it? We're back to square one. If it's wrong, you still might sue me.”

“No,” Judith said in a dead-calm voice. “I won't sue you. But if that countertop isn't in by tomorrow, I will kill you.”

“Can you put that in writing?” Bart responded. “The part about not suing me, I mean.”

“If you have a countertop installed in twenty-four hours, I will. Meanwhile,” Judith went on, eyeing the aspirin bottle on the windowsill above the sink, “what else should be done around here today?”

“Oh, boy—I don't know. We've got everything pretty well in hand. Except for the plumbing, of course. I'll have to get back to you on that.”

“Do that,” Judith snapped. “We want everything completed by the weekend, when we return from the resort.”

“We'll see what we can do,” Bart said. “Decisions, decisions. Life's rough.”

“What decisions now?”

“My pie. It's apple. Ice cream or cheese? What to do, what to do?”

“Just do something, and do it as soon as you finish your damned pie,” Judith all but shouted and slammed the phone back into the cradle.

Reaching for the aspirin bottle, she cursed Bart for having sent her on a fool's errand. She'd driven all the way into the city for nothing. Judith got a glass out of the cupboard and turned on the tap.

No water flowed. She'd forgotten that the plumbing had also been shut off.

 

Judith arrived back at the Lake Stillasnowamish Resort Casino shortly after two. She hadn't seen Bob Bearclaw when she'd left that morning, but he was on duty now, and greeted her with a big smile and a tip of his doorman's cap.

“Mrs. Flynn,” he said as she handed her keys to one of the valets. “I heard you had to go back to the city. Is everything all right?”

Judith grimaced. “Not really.” Noting a look of concern on Bob's face, she tried to smile. “I mean, it's nothing tragic. We're renovating our house, and there are so many complications. It's very frustrating.”

“Oh, yes. But,” Bob continued, “a true test of patience and perseverance. Like all troubling experiences, it will strengthen you.”

“I suppose,” Judith said dubiously. Since she was about to pass out from hunger, she felt anything but strong. “Would you know where I might find my husband?”

Bob wore a slight frown. “No, I'm sorry to say I don't know where Mr. Flynn is. The last I saw of him was around noon, eating lunch in the coffee shop with Mr. Green, Mr. Fromm, and Jack Jackrabbit. Would you like me to have him paged?”

“No, I'm going to have some lunch myself first. Thank you, Bob.” Judith started up the stone steps, then turned as if an afterthought had struck her. “Do you know if there are any new developments in the homicide case?”

Bob smiled in a deferential manner. “I couldn't really say, Mrs. Flynn. I'm sorry.”

Couldn't or wouldn't?
Judith wondered as she entered the casino. Bob Bearclaw seemed to know more than he was letting on. But as a resort employee, discretion would be his byword.

Judith decided it would be faster to eat from the twenty-four-hour buffet than to go to the coffee shop. She followed the arrows on the sign above her head and started in the direction that took her past the con
ference rooms just beyond the lobby. Apparently, the graphic designers were on a break. The corridor was crowded with people sipping beverages in paper and plastic cups. Moving slowly through the congestion, she spotted Aunt Deb in her wheelchair, chatting with a half dozen people. Not knowing how to address her aunt under the circumstances, Judith made her way around the edge of the gathering in order not to be seen.

She wasn't quick enough.

“Yoo-hoo, Judith,” Aunt Deb called. “Come meet some very dear people.”

Obediently, Judith hoofed it over to her aunt. A quick glance informed her that Deb was indeed passing herself off as her daughter. The name tag on her green dress read “Serena Jones, Ca-Jones Designs.”

Adroitly, Aunt Deb made the introductions. All but one of the group—a gray-haired man in tweeds—was at least forty years younger than Judith's aunt.

“Isn't this nice?” Aunt Deb enthused. “I've met such lovely people.”

“That's wonderful, Aunt…Serena,” Judith said. Judging from the smiles on the designers' faces, they thought it was wonderful, too.

“They're all very clever,” Aunt Deb declared. “I hope I can hold my own on the panel this afternoon.”

Judith tried to hide her surprise. “You're on a panel?”

“Yes,” Aunt Deb responded with a little laugh. “We're discussing innovation. And,” she added with a sharp look at Judith, “concepts.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” Judith said, giving her aunt's shoulder a squeeze.

“Oh, yes,” put in a young man with a shaved head,
“Ms. Jones pointed out to us that we overuse the word ‘concept,' and that it doesn't always mean what we think it does.”

“Not to mention,” added a plump black woman who was young enough to be Aunt Deb's great-granddaughter, “she keeps us in high spirits. Ms. Jones is s-o-o-o good natured.”

“Yes, she is,” Judith agreed, wondering what might have happened if Gertrude had attended the conference instead of Aunt Deb. “I'm pleased to meet you all. Enjoy the conference,” she said, starting to walk away.

“Judith,” Aunt Deb called out. “If you see…Debbie, tell her to put on an extra sweater. It seems a bit cool this afternoon.”

“I'll tell her,” Judith promised, nodding and smiling as she left her aunt's coterie.

The buffet line was mercifully short. Within five minutes, Judith had her plate filled and was looking for an empty table. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Griselda Vanderbehr eating alone on the other side of the dining room.

Judith made a beeline for Freddy Polson's assistant. “Hi,” she said, sitting down across from the other woman. “I had to go back into the city, so I don't know the latest with the investigation. Can you fill me in?”

Grisly looked suspicious. “Why?”

Judith assumed her most helpless expression. “I haven't had time since I got back to see Joe.” She pointed at her plate. “I missed lunch.”

Grisly remained skeptical. “What were you doing in the city?”

“I had to see about a counter—” Judith feigned a cough. “Well, not exactly a counterculture. That's the wrong choice of words. I was looking into Stillas
nowamish customs with one of the tribal members who met me at my house.” As fibs went, Judith thought, it wasn't the worst one she'd ever told.

“Oh.” The suspicion began to ebb from Grisly's face. “What has that got to do with Sally's murder?”

Judith swallowed a bite of ham. “It helps Joe to better understand the Native-American witnesses. I often do research for him when he's working a case.” True enough, even if Joe rarely requested his wife's aid.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Grisly remarked, though she still didn't look entirely convinced.

“Do you know where Joe is?” Judith inquired. “I should meet up with him as soon as I finish lunch.”

Grisly put aside her half-eaten slice of lemon meringue pie. “Try Pancho Green's office on the second floor. That's where they moved the investigation. The greenroom is needed for the replacement act.”

Judith was surprised. “They already booked another act?”

Grisly nodded before lighting a cigarette. “There's always somebody on standby. This time it's a Country & Western band. The cabaret's dark tonight anyway since we get Tuesdays off.”

“I must admit,” Judith said in a musing tone, “this case has me stumped.”

“Really?” Grisly didn't sound very interested in Judith's reaction.

“It's the timing,” Judith continued, ignoring the look of indifference on her companion's face. “The lights went out before Salome—Sally—was killed. She was there for her turn with the cabinet and the sabers after the power came back on. So how did her body get into the Corvette on the casino floor?”

Grisly shrugged. “That's what everybody'd like to know.”

“It seems to me,” Judith said in a humble voice, “there's only one answer to that.”

“Really?” Grisly repeated, still not exhibiting much curiosity.

“Of course.” Judith's dark eyes fixed on the other woman's thin face. “That wasn't Salome who appeared in the second part of the act. It must have been an impostor.”

T
HAT'S IMPOSSIBLE
,” G
RISLY
scoffed. “Freddy would've known if someone had impersonated Sally.”

Judith sipped from her diet 7-UP. “It's the logical explanation. I firmly believe in logic.”

Grisly frowned into space. When she spoke, she seemed to be talking to herself. “It can't be. Freddy and Sally worked together for years, they'd been married, they'd known each other forever. He could never make such a mistake. Unless…” Grisly clapped her hands to her face.

“Yes?” Judith coaxed.

But the other woman defiantly shook her head. “No. It's not possible.”

“What's not possible?”

What little color Grisly had in her cheeks drained away as she stood up. “It doesn't matter. It was an insane idea.” None too steadily, she walked away from Judith.

 

Pancho Green's office was at the end of the corridor. The stained-cedar door was surrounded by frosted glass with etchings of trees, birds, and mountains. Upon entering, Judith saw Emily, the security guard, behind the receptionist's desk.

“Hi, Mrs. Flynn,” Emily said with a smile that showed off her dimple. “Are you looking for Mr. Flynn?”

“I am,” Judith replied. She gestured at a door on her right. “Is he in there?”

Emily nodded. “He's with Mr. Green and Mr. Fromm and Jack Jackrabbit. Oh, Freddy Polson is there, too. Have you met him yet?”

“No,” Judith said. “Maybe I should do that now.” She started for the door, then turned back. “Are you the regular receptionist?”

Emily shook her head. “They—Mr. Green and Mr. Jackrabbit—felt that someone from security should be up here during the investigation. The regular receptionist has been put in charge of making sure there are no leaks to the press. The publicity would be terrible.”

Judith thought of her own bouts of bad publicity. “It could,” she hedged, though Hillside Manor's reputation hadn't yet suffered irreparable damage.

“Mr. Green knows he can't stall forever,” Emily explained, “but he's trying to buy just a few days in the hope of solving the case.”

“That's understandable.” Anxious to enter the inner office, Judith made no further comment. She was turning the doorknob when Emily spoke up in an uncertain voice:

“Are you sure it's okay for you to join them?”

“Oh, sure,” Judith declared, and breezed through the door.

Through a cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke, the five men at the long oval table stared at Judith.

“Hi.” She smiled at the ten curious eyes. She recognized Freddy Polson, though he looked sallow without his stage makeup. His mustache was also missing, and
his brown hair looked much thinner. Judith assumed the other man was Jack Jackrabbit. He was about Freddy's age, also dark, but with more hair and slightly broader facial features.

“What are you doing here?” Joe asked in a deceptively mild tone.

“Trying to find you,” Judith replied, equally benign. She sat down in one of the empty chairs. “How's everything going?”

Joe stood up. “We were just about to take a break. Come on, we'll go down to the coffee shop. I skimped on lunch. You can tell me all about what's going on back at the house.”

Judith didn't budge. “Oh, Joe, please introduce me to these people I don't know. They'll think I'm standoffish if you don't.”

Reluctantly, Joe gestured at the sallow-faced young man first. “This is Freddy Polson, the Great Mandolini.”

Freddy half-rose and extended his hand. “I don't feel so great right now. I'm really upset.”

Pancho put a hand on the illusionist's back. “You have a right to be, Freddy. Even if your marriage to Sally didn't work out, you still made a terrific team onstage.”

Freddy seemed to be looking past Judith. “I don't know what I'll do without her.”

“You have my greatest sympathy,” Judith responded, feeling Freddy's cold, limp hand in hers. She turned to the fourth man. “You must be Mr. Jackrabbit.”

“That's right,” Jack said, also shaking Judith's hand. Unlike Freddy, Jack possessed a firm grip. His expression was polite, but his eyes were slightly hooded.
Maybe,
Judith thought,
the shielded eyes helped Jack
deflect the bad things that people did
. A detective, no matter what his ethnic origins or his tribal beliefs, couldn't always think the best of others.

“I can't wait to hear how the investigation is progressing,” Judith said, exercising her most engaging smile for Jack. “Unless…” She darted a quick glance at her glowering husband. “Unless you'd rather tell me yourself. I mean, you're in charge here, right?”

“At this point,” Jack replied modestly. “The FBI will have to come in soon, I'm afraid.”

“Does that mean you already have a suspect?” Judith inquired, her dark eyes round with feigned surprise.

Jack hesitated as Joe gave him a warning look and Pancho shifted uneasily in his chair. “I'll let Mr. Flynn fill you in,” Jack finally said.

Joe clamped a hand on Judith's arm, but his voice was light. “Will do. Come along, my darling, I yearn for a cheeseburger and fries.”

“Okay, okay,” Judith said when they were in the corridor. “Let go.” She yanked her arm out of her husband's grasp. “I don't see why you're being such a pill about this murder case. It isn't as if we haven't worked together before. What about the homicide that ruined the B&B and put us in this mess to begin with? Didn't I figure out who the killer was before you did?”

“A lucky break,” Joe retorted, punching the elevator button with unusual force. “You're a killer magnet. If I hadn't gone to the hardware store that morning to get a new hinge for the kitchen cupboard…”

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the stout figure of Inga Polson. “Where's my brother?” she demanded, charging at Joe like a bulldozer.

“In Pancho's office,” Joe said, trying in vain to reach around Inga to hold the door.

“What are you doing to him?” Inga growled in her deep voice. Frantically, she rubbed at her hands. “Freddy's very sensitive. He's an
artiste
.”

“Jack Jackrabbit is merely asking some questions,” Joe said as the elevator doors closed. “Freddy's fine. Go see for yourself.”

Inga's small eyes narrowed. She shook a finger in Joe's face. “Don't think I don't know what's going on around here. It's a conspiracy, that's what it is. I've already called our attorney.”

“You're jumping the gun,” Joe said calmly. “Freddy's a witness, that's all. His ex-wife, his partner in the act, has been killed. I'm told they were still friends. Who'd know better than Freddy why someone might have wanted her dead?”

“It's obvious who killed Sally,” Inga declared, raking her nails over her hands in agitation. “I know; Mr. Fromm knows. But Freddy's naive. It's because he's an
artiste
. He's sensitive.”

“I believe you mentioned that,” Joe murmured, nimbly stepping around Inga to poke the elevator button again.

“Freddy should never have let them question him without me,” Inga huffed, finally moving away. “I wouldn't have left him alone this afternoon, but I was exhausted after last night. I had to rest. I'm not as strong as I look.”

“I hope not,” Joe said under his breath as Inga stomped off toward Pancho's office. “That woman is driving us nuts.”

“How come?” Judith asked as another elevator arrived.

“She's too damned protective of her kid brother,” Joe responded, poking the button for the main floor.
“I get the impression she practically raised Freddy herself.”

As Joe seemed to open up a bit, Judith's annoyance faded. “What happened to their parents?”

Joe shrugged as they got out of the elevator and headed for the coffee shop. “I gather they died young. Freddy and Inga are from Shoshone, Idaho, originally. So's Sally, who was a neighbor. And Griselda Vanderbehr. Their acquaintanceship dates back to grade school, I think.”

“They all go back a long way,” Judith remarked.

“Right.” Joe stopped short of the hostess desk where an auburn-haired young woman offered the Flynns a welcoming smile before leading them to a window table.

Judith decided to keep her questions people oriented. “Have you met Sally's second husband, Manny Quinn?”

Behind the big plastic menu, Joe nodded.

“What's he like?”

Joe seemed absorbed in the menu's selections. He didn't speak until a pink-cheeked waitress appeared. “I'll have the bacon burger with fries, and a green salad. Bleu cheese dressing, coffee, and whatever my lovely bride here would like.”

“I just ate,” Judith said, “but I'll have some coffee, please.”

The waitress, who could smile as well as the rest of the hired help, darted away. Judith persevered. “What did you think of Manny Quinn?”

“Manny?” Joe removed his reading glasses. “He strikes me as a bit of a hustler, but he seemed pretty shaken by his wife's death. They'd only been married a year or so.”

“I had lunch at the buffet, with Grisly,” Judith remarked. “She was shocked by my idea.”

“What idea?”

Judith shrugged. “That Sally was killed during the power failure.”

“Oh.” Joe yawned.

“Don't you agree?”

“It could play out that way,” Joe allowed.

“So whoever the blonde was in the second half of the performance, she was an impostor, right?”

“Maybe so,” Joe said without much enthusiasm.

Judith tried to hide her exasperation. “What do you think?”

“Time of death is hard to establish within, say, thirty minutes to an hour. According to Doc Engelman, Sally could have been killed anytime between nine and ten.”

“Is this Engelman reliable?” Judith queried.

“Jack and Pancho think so,” Joe replied as their beverages arrived. “He's not a tribal member, but he lives around here, near the family cabin. Engelman's retired, but he served as county coroner a few years ago. He keeps his hand in by caring for the Stillasnowamish people.”

“It can't be that hard to fix the time of death,” Judith asserted. “We saw Sally with our own eyes, at least until…” She thought back to the last moment she'd gotten a really good look at the whirling, twirling Salome. “Maybe we really didn't see her after the power failure.”

Joe evinced mild interest. “You're saying the woman who got in the cabinet and who reappeared was an impostor?”

“Exactly. It had to be that way.” Judith's voice was gaining momentum. “It's the only explanation for how Sally's corpse got into the 'Vette.”

Joe frowned. “Freddy would have noticed if Salome wasn't Sally.”

“Unless he was in on the plot to kill her. Or had already killed her himself while he was offstage. In fact,” Judith went on, “what if Freddy's spiel in the dark was a recording? He could have been murdering Sally and getting rid of her body.”

Joe considered the idea. “Not impossible. But who impersonated Sally then? Griselda Vanderbehr's too thin. Micki Mendoza's too short. Inga Polson's too heavy. Besides, she was seated in the audience.”

“Did you watch her the whole time? I didn't,” Judith pointed out. “Oh, I know she couldn't have impersonated Sally because of her size. But with all that cape twirling, the audience didn't get a really good look at her.”

“Something's not right,” Joe said with a shake of his head. “After the saber thrusts and the cabinet was open again, we all saw Sally standing there in her silver dress without the cape.”

“I know.” Judith sighed. “It's really a puzzle. And why did Pancho and Lloyd roll out the cabinet in the first place? The stagehands did all the other grunt work before that.”

“The stagehands had been called out to help on the casino floor during the power failure,” Joe replied. “They hadn't come back yet. Pancho and Lloyd filled in for them.”

“Did they take the cabinet away after the curtain fell?”

“No,” Joe said. “There's some confusion about who did. Pancho got paged to check out a possible cheater at the blackjack tables. Lloyd was working on that weird musical instrument of his.”

“The theremin,” Judith remarked absently. “Where were Grisly and Micki at the end of the performance?”

“They met Freddy when he came offstage. They always do that, at least since Freddy got engaged to Micki.” Joe gazed through the window at the cedar trees. The March rain was still fitful. A stiff breeze made the evergreen branches sway like a hula skirt. “At this point,” Joe finally said, looking back at his wife, “I feel stumped.”

Judith's expression softened at the unexpected admission. “You're never stumped,” she declared. “Or do you mean stymied?”

“Either. Both.” Joe accepted his bacon burger, fries, and salad from the waitress. “Jack Jackrabbit's frustrated, too. I guess it's time to call in the feds.”

“Have you found the weapon?” Judith asked, filching a fry from Joe's plate.

Joe nodded. “It was one of those sabers that Freddy uses in his act. It was hidden downstairs behind some scenery. Unfortunately, Freddy has six of those things as backup. His prints are all over them; so are those belonging to other members of the company. For all we know, the killer could have worn…” Joe stopped speaking as a fair-haired young man with a scraggly goatee came up to the table. “Hi, Lloyd,” Joe said in greeting. “What's up?”

“Not much,” the young man replied, a doleful look on his faintly pockmarked face. “Bummer, eh?”

“It is at that,” Joe allowed. “Want to sit down? I don't believe you've met my wife, Judith.”

Lloyd sat down next to Joe and reached across the table to shake Judith's hand. She recognized him from his number with the theremin. “You must be Freddy's assistant,” she said with a smile. “I'm pleased to meet you. Where do you get your ideas?”