Legs Benedict (7 page)

“I quit,” she said, and stalked back into the dining room.

“Phyliss!” Judith rushed after her. “Wait. Let me explain…”

But Phyliss was vehemently shaking her head. “Godless doings, murder, blood lust, pillage, and the Lord only knows what else. I tell you, it's that cat. He's in league with the Evil One.”

“Phyliss, please.” Judith tried to take the cleaning woman's hand, but she yanked it away.

“Don't add lies to the list of sins. I can't be around such infamy. Who knows, I could be next. That cat is always trying to put me under a spell. He wants me to do bad things, like fornicate and tap dance in short skirts.”

“Phyliss…” Judith felt depleted. “Okay, let me write you a check.” She led the way into the kitchen. “Who would you recommend as a replacement?”

“Replacement?” Phyliss seemed taken aback. “I'd never let anyone I know work here. This is Babylon, Sodom and Gomorrah, a den of iniquity. Better watch out, all you who enter here.”

“All right.” Judith feigned indifference as she started to write a check. “I'll look in the classifieds, especially the Heraldsgate Hill weekly. It comes out tomorrow. Thanks, Phyliss. 'Bye.”

“
What
?” Phyliss squawked. “Thanks? Goodbye?
After all these years
?”

Judith assumed a puzzled expression. “You want severance pay? A tip? A going-away gift?”

“Well…” Phyliss's weathered face was a mass of consternation. “No. No, 'course not. I just thought…well…maybe you
might
be able to save me.”

“Hmm.” Judith concealed a smile. “And all these years, I thought
you
were trying to save
me
.”

“I don't mean
that
way,” Phyliss said, waving a bony hand. “I mean, from Satan and all these other evil-doers.”

Judith sighed. “Are you saying you might consider staying on?”

Phyliss's Adam's apple bobbed. “Well…the Good Book says we're to be tested, doesn't it? Isn't this a test?”

If so
, thought Judith,
I've passed a few already, but not always with flying colors
. “Life is a test,” she replied. “I don't blame you for being frightened, Phyliss. This is a scary situation. But except for its having happened on our property, it has nothing to do with us.”

Nothing to do with us
. Judith had heard that phrase before, several times, from different mouths. Her guests seemed eager to disassociate themselves from the crime. Judith could hardly blame them.

“I suppose,” Phyliss began, tugging her housedress down over the telltale signs of her slip, “I could at least start cleaning. But don't let that cat near me,” she warned.

“You were late today,” Judith remarked, putting the checkbook back in her purse. “Was something wrong?”

As ever, it was a loaded question. “Wrong?” Phyliss fanned herself. “You bet. I had to call for the doctor. I thought I was heading straight to meet the Lord.”

“Did the doctor come?” asked Judith, feigning interest.

“No.” Phyliss shook her head. “But he told me how to cure myself. I put my head in a grocery sack, called on the Lord, and the next thing I knew, it was a miracle. I could breathe again.” The cleaning woman offered Judith her most beatific smile.

“You were hyperventilating,” Judith said.

“What? I was dying, that's what I was doing,” Phyliss said with her own brand of tattered dignity. “Couldn't catch my breath. Awful. A step away from the Pearly Gates.”

“I'm certainly glad you're better,” Judith said in her most sympathetic tone. “I won't keep you, Phyliss. We're running behind this morning, for all sorts of reasons.”

“Don't remind me,” Phyliss responded, and headed for the back stairs just as Renie came into the kitchen.

“She's gone?” Renie, who had no patience with either Phyliss's hypochondria or her evangelizing, let out a sigh.

“Only temporarily,” Judith replied with a droll expression. “She decided not to quit after all. The next thing I know, she'll be trying to save the guests.”

Renie didn't comment. “No takers on that note you found?” she asked, rinsing out her coffee mug in the sink. “The guest interviews are over. Joe and that young detective just came from upstairs. They looked annoyed.”

“I suppose.” Judith was searching the refrigerator's freezer compartment for luncheon possibilities. “Joe can't believe this happened so close to his retirement. I wish he'd go to work and forget about it for a few hours.”

“You're right,” Renie agreed, looking out through the window above the sink. “There are plenty of reminders. I see some uniforms combing the area.”

Judith joined Renie at the window. Two policemen were searching the Rankerses' hedge, while a third was heading for the front of the house.

“Oh, great,” Judith sighed. “I suppose they'll mark the entire property with crime scene tape. What will the neighbors think?”

Renie grinned. “That you're at it again?”

“Shut up.” Judith set her jaw, then turned as J. J. Martinez poked his head into the kitchen. “Mrs. Flynn? Could I see you for a moment?”

“Oh—certainly.” Judith had forgotten that she, too, would have to be interviewed. “In the front parlor?”

J. J. nodded in his jerky fashion. “Afraid so. Should have questioned you first, but Joe filled us in.”

Asking Renie to keep an eye on the guests in the living room, Judith followed J. J. into the parlor. “Do you need more coffee?” Judith asked, ever the hostess. “Something to eat? I'm going to fix lunch in a little while.”

“Too much caffeine already.” J. J. rapped a mug with his knuckles. “Joe says it makes me jumpy. You think I'm jumpy, Mrs. Flynn?”

“Well…” Judith bit her lips. She figured that an extra “J” could easily be added to the detective's nickname. “Jumpy,” “Jittery,” or “Jerky” would work. “Maybe a little. And please call me Judith. I've known you for quite a while, J. J.”

“Oh. Yes. That's true.” J. J. gave Judith a surprisingly
diffident smile. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if his manner proved effective in unsettling suspects. Or at least throwing them off-guard. “Now tell me exactly how you found the victim, Mrs…Judith,” J. J. asked in his most serious voice.

It was only eleven o'clock, yet it seemed like much longer since Judith had discovered John Smith's corpse around seven-thirty. Slowly, carefully, she recounted the circumstances, beginning with Sweetums's arrival in the kitchen.

J. J. seemed intrigued. “Does your cat always come in at the same time every morning?”

“No,” Judith answered. “He's unpredictable. Besides, my mother and I sort of share him. Some nights he stays with her in the toolshed. Others, he'll come into the house and sleep in the basement. Then again, he might stay out and prowl. He's a very independent cat.”

“Aren't they all?” J. J. remarked, then let Judith continue with her story. When she had finished, the detective remained silent for several moments. “You're certain you didn't hear anything during the night?” he finally asked.

“Not that I recall. What did Joe say?”

J. J. shook his head. “Same thing. Mentioned the front door was unlocked. Killer might have gone out that way. What about the thunder and lightning?”

Judith frowned. “What about it?”

“We had some. Not real close. Off in the distance, towards the mountains.” J. J. drummed his fingers on the mantel. “None of the guests heard it, either. My wife and I did, but we live across the lake.”

The lake separated the city from the suburbs and the foothills of the mountain range. It wasn't surprising to Judith that the ten miles between Hillside Manor and the Martinez home would make a difference.

“A silencer,” Judith suggested. “Is that what might have muffled the shot?”

“Sure. Joe and Rich already found two silencers among your guests' belongings.”

“What?” Judith jumped in the wingback chair.

J. J. looked equally startled. “Didn't Joe tell you? Your guests have regular handgun arsenals in their rooms.”

Judith was aghast. “I knew about the gun Joe found. You mean some of the other guests also came armed?”

J. J. nodded slowly. “You bet. Santoris. Malones. Du Turque. Even the preschool teachers. Joe found silencers in Schwartz's and Smith's rooms. Santoris had a silencer for their weapon, too. Have to wonder if Mrs. Smith wasn't carrying, too.”

“Good grief!” Judith sank back into the chair. “Who are these people?”

“Apt question,” J. J. responded. “We're having them run through the computer. By the way, the Malones were outside during the night. Found their shoes with damp dirt on the soles. Won't say where they were or why. Might have been them who left the front door unlocked.”

For almost a full minute, Judith didn't say anything. She was too overwhelmed by the enormity of J. J.'s revelation about the weapons. Then reason began to set in. “I suppose,” she said slowly, “that in this day and age when people travel by car, they often bring along a gun. But what about the ones who came by plane, like Pam and Sandi?”

J. J. shrugged. “You sure they flew?”

“I saw the airporter,” Judith said, then realized the fallacy. “You're right—anybody who is willing to pay for the trip can ride the airporter around town.”

“And the rest?”

“The Smiths, the Schwartzes, and the Malones arrived by private car. I don't know about Mr. du Turque,” Judith admitted.

“He took the train,” said J. J. “But the Santoris did fly into town. I saw their airline tickets.”

Judith turned a puzzled face to J. J. “Now you've got me worried about airport security.”

“Don't. They're good.” J. J. was pacing the parlor. “Guns can be put in the luggage compartment if you notify the airline ahead of time.”

“Where is the collective arsenal?” Judith asked.

“We're holding onto everything for now, including the one Joe already took from the victim.” J. J. paused. “We're done here…Judith.” The detective gave her his self-effacing, crooked grin. “I still have to interview your mother. Want to come? I hear she's…elderly.”

Judith smiled back at J. J. “I think you mean ‘difficult.' That is, if you've been talking to my husband.”

J. J. scratched his head. “That's not quite the way he put it.”

Judith stood up. “I didn't think so. Shall we?”

“Sure.” J. J. opened the parlor door for Judith. “Don't worry, I've tackled difficult suspects before.”

Judith stopped on the threshold and gazed into J. J.'s dark eyes. “No, you haven't”

They proceeded to the toolshed.

G
ERTRUDE WAS WATCHING
a talk show on TV. The sound was so loud that Judith had to shout at her mother to use the remote to turn it down. Gertrude ignored her.

“A real shocker,” Gertrude said happily. “Women who married men who turned out to be the women who'd stolen their other men.”

Judith hit the power button on the set; the small living room became mercifully quiet. “This is Jesus Jorge Martinez, Mother. He's a detective, and he'd like to ask you some questions.”

“Haysoos?” Gertrude wrinkled her nose. “What kind of goofy name is that? Who's your brother—Hay Fever?” The old woman chuckled at her own skewed brand of humor.

“Mother…” Judith began, but J. J. had pulled a folding chair next to Gertrude and was sitting down.

“Mrs. Grover,” he said, exuding a jittery kind of charm. “I've heard you're quite a scamp.”

“Scamp?” Gertrude scowled. “At my age, the only kind of scamp I can be is a canceled one. Get it? Canceled scamp!” She slapped J. J. on the arm.

“Funny,” J. J. remarked. “Now let's talk about this morning.”

“Let's not.” Gertrude was no longer smiling, but
glaring at Judith. “How come I'm having visitors? Nobody ever comes out to this would-be coffin to see me. Today's like a parade. Am I a float?” She broke into another grin. “Am I afloat? Or sinking fast?”

“Mother,” Judith said in a voice approaching despair, “
please
. This is serious.”

“How did you sleep last night?” J. J. asked, his lean face sympathetic.

“Sleep?” The question seemed to distract Gertrude. “Who sleeps at my age? Who needs to? Pretty soon, I'll be sleeping forever.”

“Did you hear anything last night?” J. J. persisted.

“I don't hear so good,” Gertrude replied. “What happened?”

“Umm…” J. J. winced. “The man who was found on your doorstep this morning?”

The small wrinkled face was a mask of confusion. “I thought it was a woman.”

“No,” J. J. responded softly. “It was a man.”

Gertrude jabbed in the direction of the TV. “How can you tell these days? Men are women, and women are men. It wasn't like that in
my
day.”

J. J. remained patient. “Did you hear anything? See anything?”

Gertrude leaned closer to J. J. “Give me a hint.”

“A noise? Voices?”

Gertrude appeared to be thinking. “I'd like to buy a vowel,” she said suddenly. “When's ‘Wheel of Fortune' on?”

“Pardon?” J. J. looked bewildered.

“I'd like to buy a
bowel
,” Gertrude said, with another glare for Judith. “My stomach's not so good. Hey, twerp, where's my breakfast?”

“You had breakfast,” Judith said wearily. “It's almost time for lunch.”

Awkwardly, J. J. got out of the folding chair. “Thank you, Mrs. Grover. It's been…nice.”

“Who's next?” Gertrude asked with an anticipatory smile. “The president? The pope? Oprah?”

“I'll be back in a bit,” Judith promised as she and J. J. exited the toolshed. “I warned you,” she said after closing the door and scooting under the crime scene tape. “Mother's mind is very fragmented.”

“Is it?”

Judith turned to look at J. J. But she said nothing.

They went back into the house.

 

“Look,” Barney Schwartz was saying to Rich Goldman, “stop getting us all mixed up. We can't leave town, or we can't leave the house? Which is it?”

Considering that all of the guests were talking at once as they crowded around Rich by the bay window, the young detective kept his composure. “We'd appreciate it if, for now, you'd remain on the premises. Maybe by this afternoon, you'll be free to leave the B&B. But we must insist that you don't leave town. If you feel a need to spend the night somewhere else, please notify us.”

“Sheesh,” said Mal. “So we're stuck here for the time being?”

Rich nodded. “That's right. My partner and I are headed downtown right now, but we're leaving some uniformed officers here to watch the house. We'll get back to all of you as soon as we can.”

The guests began to disperse. Mal and Bea trudged up the stairs; Barney and his mother went into the front parlor; the Santoris adjourned to the front porch; Sandi and Pam used the french doors to go out the back way; Roland du Turque remained at the piano.

The rain had lightened to a mere drizzle, with occasional breaks in the clouds. Judith returned to the kitchen, looking for Joe.

“He left,” Renie said, “while you were in the toolshed.”

Judith picked up the phone directory. “I want to check
on something,” she said. “Which airport shuttle is blue with white letters?”

Renie cocked an eye at the high ceiling. “Hmm…the one that serves Boring Field.”

Judith frowned at Renie. “That can't be right. None of the commercial flights land at Boring Field. Those are all charters and private planes.”

“Not my fault,” Renie said with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” Judith replied, finding the listing in the Yellow Pages, “that's what brought Pam and Sandi here. I thought I'd check to see if they really did fly in with those guns.”

“What guns?” asked Renie, who was making herself useful by loading the dishwasher.

But Judith had already dialed the shuttle's number. “Now I'll have to think of a good fib,” she murmured. “Hello? Yes, this is Judith Grover, of Grand Grove Limo Service. We were supposed to pick up a Ms. Perl and a Ms. Williams yesterday afternoon, but they didn't show. Do you know if they arrived?”

The woman at the shuttle service informed Judith that they had indeed landed at Boring Field, shortly before three o'clock.

Judith made a thumbs-up gesture for Renie's benefit. “Was that a private flight out of Newark?”

“Not Newark,” the woman replied. “The flight plan was filed out of Chicago.” She added that the plane was registered to Pamela Perl. Agog, Judith thanked the woman and hung up.

“Pam has her own plane,” Judith informed Renie. “How does a preschool teacher afford that?”

“Her parents have money? Or did, before they had children? Think how well off we'd be if we'd been infertile.” Renie jammed a handful of silverware into the dishwasher.

“I think it's peculiar,” Judith said.

“But not impossible,” Renie noted. “Now tell me about the guns.”

Judith explained about the arsenal that had been found in the guest rooms. Renie seemed more amused than alarmed. “So travelers want to feel safe? Big deal. Isn't that the reason the Brits drive on the wrong side of the road? In days of yore, they had to whip out their swords to defend themselves while riding on horseback.”

Judith gave Renie a skeptical glance. “But silencers?”

“Not on swords.” Renie locked the dishwasher and turned it on. “I'll admit, that's harder to explain. Who had the silencers?”

“The Santoris and Barney Schwartz. That really bothers me. You don't need a silencer to ward off a mugger.” Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “The receipts! Let me get them out of the file.”

Judith's filing system was reasonably well organized. She kept receipts filed by the month of the actual stay, rather than when payment was received. But since all the prepaid reservations had come in the previous week, the records were in an envelope marked for June.

“Here's an Amex receipt for Roland du Turque,” Judith noted. “And a Visa for Pete Santori and another for Pam Perl, who paid for both her and Sandi. But this is odd, now that I think about it—the Schwartzes and the Smiths sent in money orders, and overnighted them so payment would arrive before they did. The deliveries came together by Federal Express Saturday.”

“From…?” Renie cocked her head to one side.

“Drat!” Judith rummaged in the wastebasket under the counter that she used as a desk. “Phyliss must have emptied this into the recycling bin. Let's go outside.”

Unfazed by the drizzling rain, the cousins went around the side of the house to the big green receptacle that was collected only once a month. One of the uniformed officers, who turned out to be Mercedes Berger, approached Judith.

“We've checked that,” Mercedes said. “Nothing.”

“I'm looking for something…personal,” Judith explained. “How come you got stuck with watchdog duty?”

Mercedes wore a rueful look. “Darnell and I officially
went off patrol at eleven, so they decided we might as well stay here and work an overtime shift.”

“Any luck with the search?” Judith asked.

“I don't think so,” Mercedes replied, though she didn't meet Judith's gaze. “No weapon, at any rate.”

With a nod, Judith lifted the recycling bin lid. Fortunately, the FedEx envelopes were right on top. Tucking them under her arm, she led the way around the side of the house.

Renie, however, suddenly grabbed Judith's sleeve. “Hey,” Renie said under her breath, “check out the garage.”

On the other side of Judith's Subaru, in the space reserved for Joe's beloved MG, Pete Santori was talking earnestly with Sandi Williams. Neither Marie nor Pam was anywhere in sight.

“Pete and Sandi?” Judith whispered incredulously.

The couple was so involved in conversation that they didn't notice the cousins tiptoeing around the corner of the house. “It's obvious, isn't it?” Judith said when they reached the sanctuary of the back porch. “The Santoris and the teachers know each other from somewhere else. How else would you explain Pam and Sandi's reaction when they first saw Pete and Marie?”

“What is this?” Renie asked as they went into the kitchen. “Some kind of rendezvous point?”

“I wonder.” She hesitated. “I suppose I could ask at some appropriate moment.”

Renie smiled. “You'll ask, appropriate or not.”

“You bet.” Judith smoothed the FedEx envelopes on the counter. “Here's the one from Barney Schwartz. The return address is in Royal Oak, Michigan. That checks out. And this is John Smith's. It was sent from…” Judith paused, staring at the printed form. “…Royal Oak, Michigan.”

Over Judith's shoulder, Renie looked at the address. “It's not the same, though. In fact, it's not really an address, it's an intersection. But there's a phone number in the three-
one-three area code. I think that's Detroit and its suburbs, which would include Royal Oak.”

Judith stared at the two envelopes. “John Smith lived in New York. Or so he said.”

Renie tapped the number. “Call it. See who answers.”

Judith dialed the number. After two rings, she heard a hoarse male voice at the other end. “Freddy's Bar and Grill,” said the man.

Judith was taken aback. “Freddy?”

“Naw. This is Jake. Who's this?”

“This is a…friend. Do you know John Smith?”

“C'mon, lady. Don't piss me off. Who is this?”

Judith thought rapidly. “Are you at the corner of…” She glanced at the address on the envelope and repeated the street names.

“Hell, no. That's out in Royal Oak. You got downtown Detroit. You ain't even in the right area code. They changed it last month.” Jake hung up.

Judith replaced the cordless phone in its cradle. “John Smith gave a phony number, probably off the top of his head. He didn't realize that there'd been an area code change recently and that three-one-three isn't Royal Oak anymore.”

“In other words,” Renie said thoughtfully, “John Smith was passing through.”

Before Judith could respond, Phyliss appeared in the hallway carrying a laundry basket. “I got a note in the pocket of my housedress. You want it?”

“What are you talking about, Phyliss?” Judith asked, getting up from the counter-cum-desk.

“I found it under the braided rug in Room Four. You want it or not? Hurry up, this load of wash is heavy.”

Judith reached around under the plastic hamper and pulled a piece of paper out of Phyliss's pocket. The cleaning woman's eyes surveyed Renie over the stack of laundry. “That you, Mrs. Jones? I see you've taken up with fiendish tobacco. Tsk, tsk.”

“Pagan Jones to you,” Renie shot back, picking two
bananas out of Judith's fruit bowl and wiggling them on her head to look like horns. “I'm a lost soul, Phyliss, awash in sin and decadence.”

“A wash is right,” Phyliss huffed. “And that's what I'm going to do. You're doomed, Mrs. Jones. There's smoke in cigarettes, there's smoke in Hades. Just wait and see.”

Renie watched Phyliss's departing figure. “Does she really think I'm a pagan? Doesn't she know that we're both Catholic?”

“Same thing to Phyliss,” Judith murmured, studying the paper that had been torn off the pads provided in each guest room. “Listen to this—‘Meet me outside in half an hour.' It's unsigned, but I'm almost certain this is the same handwriting that was on the note I found under the piano.”

“Which went unclaimed,” Renie commented.

“Barney was supposed to meet this person outside,” Judith said, still puzzling over the note. “When?”

“Half an hour after the note was delivered,” Renie answered in a reasonable tone. “It could have been at any time, including yesterday or this morning.”

“But if it was during the night, it might pinpoint the time of the murder,” Judith said in a thoughtful voice. “Maybe John Smith or whoever he is—was—slipped this note under the door.”

“You told me his name
was
John Smith.”

“That was then, this is now.” Judith jutted her chin at Renie.

“Okay, so maybe John Smith, aka whoever, went outside to wait and somebody else came along and shot him,” said Renie.

Moving to the work counter by the sink, Judith began dicing cooked chicken breasts. “But Barney doesn't get the note.” She paused to stare at Renie. “It was under the rug, remember? Barney doesn't show. Who does?”