Loco Motive (5 page)

“Can Bill take us to the train a bit later?” Judith asked. “It's a ten-minute drive to the station, and on a Sunday there shouldn't be much downtown traffic.”

Renie didn't answer right away. “Well…Bill's gone to bed, so I can't mention it tonight. He's like his brother, Bub. They insist on leaving an hour earlier than any normal person would because they want to make sure they have a seat, a pew, a parking place, a…whatever. It's got to be a Midwestern thing. I don't think either of them changed their watches after they moved here forty-odd years ago. Or,” she added musingly, “do I mean daylight savings time? I hate the idea so much that I try not to think about it. What's the point?” Her voice grew angry—and loud. “What the hell are we saving the daylight
for
?”

Judith never understood her cousin's opposition to the concept, except as an example of Renie's contrary nature. “Relax,” she urged. “We change back in the wee small hours Sunday.”

“Hmm. That gives me an idea.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” Renie said. “It involves math. I'll figure it out by Sunday.”

“I need answers now,” Judith insisted. “What do I tell the kids?”

“Nothing. Don't expend energy making up one of your convoluted lies.”

“Fibs,” Judith snapped. “I don't lie. I only tell fibs in a good cause.”

“You just told another one.” Renie sounded impatient with her cousin's attitude toward deception. “Don't say anything. Yet.”

There was no choice but to reluctantly agree. Renie might be older, but that didn't mean she was wiser. Besides, Judith admitted to herself as she slowly climbed the stairs, keeping quiet was easier than blurting out the truth.

When she reached the third-floor family quarters, she paused as she often did to rest her hip and take a deep breath. All was quiet in Mike's old room and the den. Joe, however, was still awake and reading a book by one of his favorite crime caper authors. He paused as Judith entered the bedroom. “I should never have tried to watch that Weevil movie,” he said. “It's a good cure for insomnia. I must've dozed off for almost an hour, so now I don't feel sleepy.”

“I do,” Judith replied. “I'm suffering from a moral dilemma. Have you mentioned our Boston trip to Mike or Kristin?”

“Only that I'm heading back there next week,” Joe said. “I knew you were in a pickle, so I didn't mention your plans.” His green eyes twinkled. “I'm anxious to hear how you plan to wiggle off the hook on this one.”

“I'm not,” Judith retorted. “Renie's handling it.”

“Oh God!” Joe flung an arm across his forehead. “That's worse than your mega-lies!”

“Don't you start in on me,” Judith warned. “Renie's already done that. It's not my fault Mike and Kristin showed up for the weekend without notice. Mother should've mentioned it sooner, but if I'd had the courage to tell her about the trip, she might've told them their timing was bad.”

Joe snorted. “It'd be like her not to tell them just to be ornery.” Judith glared at her husband from over the neck of the sweater she was pulling off. “Mother isn't always mean.”

Joe feigned bewilderment. “Maybe it's just me.”

“Maybe it is.” She placed her sweater on top of the dresser. “I've given up on either of you making peace.”

“You might as well,” Joe said. “I figure contention is one of the things that keeps the old girl going.”

“Could be.” Judith stepped out of her slacks. “Feistiness has its benefits.”

“I think she's lived so long because God doesn't want her.” Joe closed his book and set it on the nightstand. “Are you really tired?”

“Yes,” Judith snapped. “It's been a long and…” She paused, staring at Joe's mischievous expression. “Maybe I'm not
that
tired.”

He reached out to take her hand and draw her closer to the bed. “Let's see if I can perk you up.”

Moving into the circle of his arms, Judith smiled. “You always could.” She sighed softly. “You always will.”

“Good,” Joe said, burying his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder. “After all, we're still making up for lost time.”

 

D
uring the night the rain and wind stopped, but by morning, fog had settled in over the hill. The little boys were sleeping in, having been worn out by the previous day's activities. Mike and Kristin came down to the kitchen shortly before eight. Judith had just returned from taking her mother's breakfast to the toolshed. She'd considered breaking the news about the Boston trip to Gertrude, but changed her mind at the last minute. It wasn't
just putting up with the old lady's predictable complaints about her daughter abandoning her for such a long time, but that her mother would blab the news to Mike and Kristin.

The early part of the morning was typically busy. Kristin volunteered to help with the guests' breakfast. Judith accepted the offer, but pointed out that the menu was already planned. Kristin could help by setting up the serving area in the dining room. Judith sensed that her daughter-in-law was put off by the request. Having quickly accomplished the task, Kristin remarked that the curtains in the family quarters needed washing. Judith hadn't argued, but Phyliss pitched a fit.

“Your son's wife should keep her nose out of my business,” she griped as the Alaskan quartet and the Tennessee couple were finishing their meal. “I've got a system and a schedule. Those curtains shouldn't be washed until the third week of November. Come next May, everything will be higgly-piggly.”

“Let her do it. Kristin isn't happy unless she's busy,” Judith said, not without sympathy for Phyliss.

“Then she ought to be all smiles, which is more than I can say for some of your paying guests. From what I've seen of them this morning, they're a grumpy bunch. Too much noise during the night. Maybe Miss Know-It-All was running the vacuum in the wee small hours.”

“It was probably the wind.” Judith cocked an ear in the direction of the dining room.

“The Canadians just came downstairs. I should greet them.”

Right behind the Gauthiers was Libby Pruitt, a Northwestern University lit professor on sabbatical. Judith hadn't been able to visit much with Ms. Pruitt, who'd checked in late Tuesday and was due to check out Friday morning. The guests already at the table greeted Judith as they made way for the newcomers.

Gauthier père studied the offerings on the sideboard that had been installed the previous winter by Judith's handyman, the age
less and energetic Skjoval Tolvang. “No omelets?” he exclaimed in something akin to shock.

“Chill, Papa,” Gauthier fils said softly. “The scrambled eggs look great.”

“Tomorrow,” Judith said, “my husband is making his Joe's Special. It's not exactly an omelet, but our guests always rave about…”

A blond head loomed over the half doors to the kitchen. “Omelets coming up!” Kristin cried. “Three minutes!”

Judith's smile was strained. “The ham and two kinds of sausage are excellent. Try the blueberry pancakes and the Belgian waffles. Everyone always seems to enjoy them.”

Steve Gauthier shot Judith an amused glance. “My father likes waffles. Don't you, Papa?”

The older man uttered a little grunt. “They are fine. Usually.” His son had already filled his plate. “The whipped cream's homemade and the strawberries are fresh, not frozen.”

“In October?” Mr. Gauthier was incredulous. “How can that be?” Judith was flummoxed. She had no idea where Falstaff's got their berries during fall and winter. For all she knew, the store manager grew them in his bathtub. “Australia? Chile? Our grocer flies in items from all over the world.”

Mr. Gauthier poured his orange juice. “Ah! Real oranges.
Excellent
.”

Judith started for the kitchen to see what the overzealous Kristin was up to, but a clearing of the throat by Libby Pruitt caught her attention. “Yes?” Judith said, realizing that Ms. Pruitt remained in the dining-room doorway.

“May I have a word, please?” she asked in a low voice.

“Of course,” Judith said, noting that her guest's pale face looked worried. “Shall we go into the living room?”

“That's not necessary.” Libby Pruitt had moved into the entry hall and stopped by the powder room. She was tall and slim, close to six feet in her low-heeled shoes. “This morning I dropped one of my
contact lenses by the window.” She made a face. “It was for my left eye, which is considerably worse than my right. I'm farsighted, so I literally had to feel for it. I finally moved the braided rug at the foot of the bed—and found this.” She opened her right hand to reveal a plain gold band in her palm. “It's engraved. Perhaps a previous guest didn't realize the ring was missing until after checking out.”

Judith plucked up the ring and peered at the tiny markings. “It looks too big for a woman, but you never know. I can't see this without a magnifier.”

Libby smiled. “Once I found my contact, I could read what turned out to be initials. They're
RK,
an ampersand, and
JG.
There's also a date—1990.”

Judith nodded. “I see that now. The guest who stayed there ahead of you was an Episcopal priest from New Jersey attending a church conference. I don't recall if he wore a wedding ring. His last name was Dobbs. Wrong initials.”

“Maybe,” Libby suggested, “the ring has been there for some time.”

Judith shook her head. “I doubt it. A lost wedding ring—at least that's what it looks like—isn't something you'd forget.”

Libby's thin lips curved slightly. “It is if you want to forget the person wearing the matching band.”

“Uh…that's so.” Judith had already noticed the oval garnet ring on Libby's left hand. Maybe it had replaced a wedding band that evoked unhappy memories. “Thanks for finding this. I'll do some research to figure out who may have lost it.”

Libby smiled. “Good luck.” She walked into the dining room. Judith put the ring in the pocket of her tan slacks before opening the guest register to check the most recent occupants of room two. It was not only the smallest of Hillside Manor's six rooms, but had a single bed. She searched all the way back to October 1, but found no one with the initials
RK
or
JG
. Stumped, she returned to the dining room just as Kristin entered bearing two big platters.

“Omelets,” she announced with a big smile, setting the dishes
on the table instead of the sideboard. “This one,” she continued, pointing to her left, “is shrimp and mushrooms. Traditional, tasty. The other is hardier as well as healthier. Chopped raisins and nuts. Try it with some of the powdered sugar that's in the small green bowl.” She nodded toward the sideboard. “Enjoy!”

Judith smiled at her guests in passing as she followed Kristin into the kitchen. “You didn't need to make the omelets. We have ample food for everyone now that all the guests are seated. By the way, where did you get the nuts?”

“In the pantry,” Kristin replied. “Isn't that where you keep them?”

“Usually,” Judith said. “I don't cook with them except during the holidays. Aunt Renie is allergic to all kinds of nuts, especially peanuts.”

“Peanuts aren't nuts,” Kristin said. “They're legumes.”

Judith agreed. “She's allergic to both. It's peanuts that can be lethal.”

“That's awful,” Kristin declared. “How can she not eat nuts and be healthy? Couldn't she be desensitized?”

“She'd never risk it. Renie's always lived with the allergy. She prefers being unhealthy—and undead,” Judith said, trying not to sound annoyed. But the attempt failed. Kristin suddenly looked offended. Judith quickly put a hand on her daughter-in-law's arm.

“I really appreciate your help. Now that everyone's been served, we can close the kitchen.”

Kristin still looked prickly. “Aren't all of your rooms full?”

“Yes, but—” Judith stopped. “Oh, drat! I forgot about the
Z
s.”

“The
Z
s?”

“A couple showed up last night and I put them in room three. Their last name is unpronounceable. Maybe they went out to breakfast.” Judith started for the back stairs. “I'll ask Phyliss. She'll know if they're still in their room.”

“Phyliss needs to mind her manners,” Kristin said. “Doesn't she understand that you're the employer and she's the employee?”

Judith turned around. “She insists she works only for God. I'm strictly in the middle. Phyliss has her ways, but it's best not to rile her.”

Kristin was standing between the hall and the kitchen, her hands braced against the doorjambs. With her Valkyrie-like appearance, she reminded Judith of Samson holding up the pillars of the temple. If, she thought fleetingly, Kristin removed her hands, would the whole house fall down?

“Insubordination is unacceptable,” Kristin said. “It erodes self-esteem.”

Judith tried to keep her temper in check. “Phyliss has worked for me from the get-go. We have an unspoken understanding. She puts up with my shortcomings and I shrug off her Bible-thumping. She's a fine worker, loyal and never shirking. As for self-esteem, at my age, I don't dwell on it.”

Kristin moved out of the doorway and took a few steps into the hallway. The house did not fall down. “That's unwise. Age isn't a factor. I hate mentioning it, but there are times when you seem to be…” Her forehead wrinkled as she struggled to find the right word.

Judith braced herself against the wall by the stairs. “Yes?” Kristin took a deep breath. “You've become a doormat. There. I've said it.” She smiled wryly. “You let people run right over you, including Joe, Gee-Gee, Aunt Renie, and even Mike. That's why you should reflect on your lack of self-esteem. It'll get worse with time. Society shuns older people, ignoring their wisdom and experience. We live in a youth-obsessed culture, but by valuing yourself and exuding confidence, you needn't become invisible.”