The Wurst Is Yet to Come (24 page)

“Hey—I'll walk on the other side of the street,” Renie said, getting out of the car. “You want me to ask Suzie about the vineyard?”

“You probably can't. It's the dinner hour. The lot's almost full.”

The cousins parted company. Judith took her time traversing the block and a half to the exhibit area. She was shivering by the time she reached the Forest Service booth. Not only had it gotten colder, but she could smell snow in the air.

The stuffed deer was leaning against the side of the booth. Apparently Renie must have broken one of its legs. Ruggiero was easy to spot, being the tallest of the three rangers on duty. She approached him just as he finished talking to a couple of men in hunting gear.

“Hi,” she said, forcing her warmest smile. “I don't think we've met, but I know you.” She extended her hand.

Ruggiero peered at her with shrewd gray eyes. “How is that?” he inquired, shaking hands with a firm but brief grip.

“I'm Mike McMonigle's mother,” Judith said. “I've been here in Little Bavaria with the innkeeping group since Thursday, so I've been out of touch with Mike.” She decided not to use subterfuge. “Do you know where his next posting is?”

“Yes.”

Judith felt her heart start to beat a bit faster. “Where is it?”

“I can't say. It's not official.”

“But . . .” Judith was flummoxed by the ranger's stern expression. “How soon will we—will he know?”

“He knows now,” Ruggiero replied. “But he can't tell anyone until it's official. That's how it works with the U.S. government.”

She started to say something, realized it would be futile, and clamped her mouth shut. Ruggiero started to turn away, but Judith couldn't let him get off the hook so easily. “Why isn't the U.S. government doing something about the murders around here?”

The ranger swung around to face her. “What are you talking about? That old geezer who got knifed in the bar brawl the other night?”

So that was how the murder's being played,
Judith thought. “Yes.” She gulped. “I was there. It was awful.”

“Look,” Ruggiero said as if he were talking to a third grader, “this Oktoberfest thing is basically an excuse for tourists to get drunk and go nuts. So far it hasn't been too bad. The people here have a pretty good grip on how to run this kind of show. But you wouldn't believe what I've heard from other parts of the country where they hold these shindigs. Talk about the Italians and the French getting sloshed at their celebrations—the Germans do a damned good job of it, too. If I were you, I'd keep clear of these people. They can be dangerous.”

“I suppose so,” Judith said meekly. She shivered again, and this time it wasn't only from the cold night air.

J
udith and Renie didn't meet up until the last few yards before reaching the entrance to Hanover Haus. “I thought you'd been busted by that ranger as my accomplice,” Renie said, panting a bit. “I practically ran the last two blocks to make sure you were okay.”

“I am,” Judith said, “sort of. Let's talk after we get to the room.”

While changing clothes, Judith related her frustrating—and disturbing—encounter with Ranger Ruggiero. “The most interesting part was how Wessler's murder is being played to the public. I suppose that's why Joe doesn't seem to know anything about it.”

“Be relieved,” Renie advised, taking an orange cowl-neck sweater out of her suitcase. “So Ingrid showed up again? Is she stalking Joe?”

“I'm beginning to wonder. Is she just trying to annoy me or is she really hot for him?”

“Never having met her, I can't tell you much,” Renie said, slipping the sweater over her head. “I spoke briefly to Suzie about the vineyard. She had Barry waiting tables before tending bar at tonight's party.”

Judith was applying makeup in front of the bureau's oval mirror. “What did she say?”

Renie had almost finished putting her mascara on. “Suze said the plan was on hold. I got the impression she'd like to leave it that way.”

“Did she seem annoyed by the inquiry?”

“Why would I annoy her?” Renie scowled at Judith. The mascara wand slipped and fell on the floor. “Damn! See what you made me do?” She snatched up the wand and stared in the mirror. “Now I look like Raccoon Renie. I'll have to start over.”

“Sorry. I only meant the question itself, not you. I mean, the two of you did get into it the other night . . .”

Renie had gone into the bathroom to remove the errant mascara marks. “Suze and I are as one,” she called out, having left the door open. “The only problem was she got distracted when Franz Wessler came in.”

“Franz?” Judith's hand bobbed, sending her lipstick into her left nostril. “Now you've done it!” She got up and joined Renie in the bathroom. “Hurry up. We're going to be late.”

“Ha ha. You look funny.”

“Mop yourself up so . . .” Judith froze. “What's that?” she breathed.

Renie stepped away from the sink. “What's what?”

“Shhh. It sounded like someone out on the balcony.”

“So?”

“I saw a shadow outside, as if someone was looking into our room.”

“Watching us turn ourselves into clowns? Aren't there better things to do during Oktoberfest?”

Judith held up a hand, signaling for Renie to be quiet. “Listen.” But the only sound they heard was a hunting horn off in the distance.

Renie stalked out of the bathroom, marched to the window, and shouted, “If you got the money, honey, we got the time!”

“Coz!” Judith hissed, coming out of the bathroom. “Stop that!”

Renie ignored the advice, opening the balcony door and looking out. “Nothing to see here, as the cops would say, but it's snowing.”

Judith finished wiping off the lipstick smear before joining her cousin. “Fresh footprints, but no tread on the soles. That's odd.”

Renie shrugged. “It just started snowing. Was someone listening the whole time before the snow started?”

Judith took one last look before closing the door. “Maybe. Fairly big footprints. That's kind of scary. At least I didn't imagine it.”

“No,” Renie agreed. “Man or woman?”

“I can't tell. The prints will be obliterated in a few minutes. I'd guess whoever it was must be fairly tall. The eavesdropper must not be staying here. A guest could listen at the other door. Unless it was a ruse to make us think that.”

“Maybe it was your run-of-the-mill window peeper,” Renie said. “Every community has at least one of those.”

“You don't believe that,” Judith said, making another attempt at putting on her lipstick, but discovering her hand was unsteady. “Okay, we can't dwell on it. How distracted was Suze by Franz's arrival?”

Renie waited to answer until she'd finished reapplying her mascara. “I wouldn't call it ‘agog,' but she seemed definitely interested in his arrival. Usually, she's unflappable on the job.”

“Hmm. I wonder if she was in the car the other night with Franz. I don't recall seeing her after you two parted company at the town hall.”

“You think Suze and Franz
really
got together? Not a bad idea. I mean, for them.”

“Suze certainly had gone to some trouble to look like . . . maybe not Ava Gardner-esque, but not like Pancake Suzie either.”

“Could be a strategic move,” Renie said, pulling on her glossy brown leather boots. “Something to do with the vineyard?”

“Maybe.” Judith sat down on the bed. “Can you help me with my boots? I'm too tired to bend that far.”

“Sure,” Renie said. “What would you do without me?”

Judith smiled. “Well . . . I can never accuse you of being dull.”

“Thanks.” Renie put on the first of Judith's low-heeled snow boots. “I never think of not being dull.” She tugged on Judith's other boot. “It's a lot better than thinking of being dead.”

“Right,” Judith agreed, standing up. “Why do I have the feeling that's what we have to worry about?”

 

Chapter Seventeen

T
he snow fell in feathery flakes, indicating that the temperature wasn't far below freezing. The wind had subsided, apparently coming off the mountains and blowing east. Judith envisioned a white world of orchards and farms in that part of the state.

“Winter wheat,” she said aloud, walking along the next block past more shops and cafés.

“What?” Renie asked. “Are you obsessed with crops now?”

“I need a reminder that most people's lives are ordinary, ordained by the seasons. How many other people do you know who are afraid that someone may be lurking around the corner waiting to kill them?”

“Plenty, if I count the shoppers at Falstaff's Grocery when I drive into the parking lot.”

Judith shot Renie an irked glance. “You know what I mean.”

“Just enjoy the snow.” Renie gestured at a group of young people who were trying to make snowballs in the middle of the street. “Look, they're probably so gassed they don't know the snow is too wet for weaponry. They'll have to wait a while to pelt each other.”

Judith shrugged. “They're having fun. How far is this place?”

“How would I know? It can't be too far. We're past the bandstand and that other inn. The town virtually ends in another block or two.”

They trudged on for another half a block before seeing a sign and an arrow pointing toward the river. “There it is. The Valhalla Inn,” Judith said. “I can see the roof. There better be stairs.”

There were zigzagging stone steps already almost clear of snow from the arrival of earlier guests. Judith held on to the handrail and took her time. From what she could tell through the thick snow that was now falling, the inn looked older and more rustic than the rest of the town's architecture. It was built into the side of the hill above the river, its bottom two floors made of sandstone. Rough-hewn logs covered the second- and third-floor facades. The steep pitch of the roof indicated it had been constructed to withstand heavy snows when there had been even harder winters in the first half of the twentieth century.

“I bet this was the original ski lodge,” Judith said, pausing at the pine door to listen to the river ripple in the mountain valley. “It reminds me of our family cabin.”

“Yeah?” Renie retorted. “So where's the outhouse?”

“Forget it.” Judith opened the door. The river's flow was drowned out by the sound of cheerful voices, hearty laughter, and a lively accordion. “We
are
late,” she murmured. “Stay out of trouble, okay?”

Renie made a face, but didn't say anything. She was too busy trying to unzip her black hooded ski parka.

Eldridge Hoover and Jeanne Barber both rushed over to greet Judith. “We were afraid you weren't coming!” Jeanne cried, gripping her in a rib-crushing hug. “Everybody's here.”

Managing to unlock herself from Jeanne's embrace, Judith scanned the crowd in the rustic room. She spotted the Denkels, the Beaulieus, Gabe Hunter, and several others from the B&B contingent. Barry Stafford was tending bar while Jessi kept him company. Evelyn Choo was talking to a slim, trim, silver-haired man Judith hadn't yet met.

“Connie must've finished her workshop,” Judith said.

“Yes,” Jeanne said. “I learned all sorts of new tricks from her.”

“I didn't know Connie was turning tricks,” Renie said, sidling up to her cousin.

Jeanne looked puzzled; Eldridge let out a little snort that sounded like a stifled laugh.

Judith changed the subject. “Is that Mr. Stromeyer with Evelyn?”

Jeanne nodded. “He seems very nice, but he came down with flu a couple of days ago. That's why we haven't seen much of him. Mr. Stromeyer is much older than he looks. Isn't he distinguished?”

Judith studied the chairman's erect figure. “Ex-military?”

“Yes,” Jeanne said. “Despite the German name, he was born in this country. He fought for our side.”

“So did Eisenhower,” Renie remarked.

“I should meet him,” Judith said. She abandoned Renie to the two other innkeepers, but paused at the bar to ask Barry for a Scotch-rocks.

“You got it,” Barry said with a wry smile. “You can't get drunk if you're not drinking,”

Jessi, who was sipping some sort of bubbly wine, shook her head. “Don't encourage any more mayhem around here, Barry. This town is starting to make me nervous.” She nodded in Stromeyer's direction. “He's such a wonderful old guy, but he looks pale. Maybe he should've stayed home tonight after putting in so much work for the festival.”

“Could you introduce me?” Judith asked. “I'd like to thank him for everything he's done.”

“Sure,” Jessi said. “Follow me.”

To Judith's dismay, Ellie and Delmar Denkel had just approached Stromeyer. “Judith,” Ellie said, lifting her glass in a vague salute. “You must meet Herman Stromeyer. Delmar and I feel like he's a dear friend.”

Judith thought Herman looked older up close. He offered her the hand that wasn't holding an empty wineglass. “How do you do, Mrs. . . . ?”

“McMonigle,” Ellie put in hastily.

“Flynn,” Judith said firmly.

Ellie snickered. “I forgot you finally married that cop.”

Jessi volunteered to get Herman a refill, but he demurred. “I don't want to upset my stomach after the flu. Just sparkling cider, my dear.”

Jessi took his empty glass. “Sure, Gramps. Be right back.”

Judith didn't hide her surprise. “Jessi is your granddaughter?”

Herman offered her an engaging smile. “She is indeed. My Sadie passed away a long time ago. She's my youngest daughter's little girl.”

“Goodness,” Judith said, “I'm used to the city. I forget how everyone in small towns seems connected to everybody else.”

Ellie nudged Judith. “You're drinking Scotch? How could you with all these amazing German wines?”

“I have no palate,” Judith admitted.

“Pity,” Delmar said, tapping his glass. “I've studied up on the differences between regional wines. This Silvania is top-notch, straight from the old country.”

“
Silvaner,
darling,” Ellie said, putting a hand on her husband's back. “Oh, I realize you're making one of your little jokes.”

Herman looked slightly pained, but attempted a smile. “It's not easy keeping track of wines and their regions. I'm no expert, like Dietrich Wessler, but, as they say, I know what I like.” His expression brightened as Jessi reappeared with the sparkling cider. Renie wasn't far behind.

“Jerk,” she said into Judith's ear. “I had to listen to Jeanne Barber blah-blah about the wonders of island living. Evelyn abandoned me.”

Ignoring the comment, Judith introduced Renie to Herman. “Not another innkeeper, eh?” he said in a jovial tone.

“I'm a cousin-keeper,” Renie said meekly. “I don't get out much.”

“That's not a bad thing,” Ellie murmured.

Judith held her breath as her cousin's eyes sparked. “Watch it, Mrs. Dingle,” Renie said softly. “One thing I'm keeping is my temper.”

Ellie whirled around so fast that she bumped Herman's arm, spilling some of the cider on the parquet floor. “You're rude!” she cried. “What did you do with your manners?”

Renie assumed an innocent air. “I gave them to you for your birthday. You never thanked me.”

Judith realized that several heads had turned in their direction. Jessi was motioning to Barry, who had come out from behind the bar. Ellie swerved toward Judith, who accidentally stepped on Barry's foot, causing him to bump into Herman and slosh cider on the hardwood floor.

“Don't move,” Barry said. “I'll wipe this up and get Herman a refill.”

“Sorry,” Judith whispered to Barry, handing him her glass. “Could you top this for me?”

“Sure.” He hurried back to the bar.

“Excuse me,” Ellie said, her head held high. “Come, Delmar, we must get out of the disaster area. We, too, need refills.” She flounced off with her husband taking up the rear in his docile pet Chihuahua role.

“Chicken,” Renie said, after taking a swig of her bourbon. “The old hen's twice my size and still is scared of me. It must be the big teeth.”

“And the big mouth,” Judith said under her breath. Glancing at Herman, she saw that his smile was ironic.

“Ellie's soured with age,” he murmured. “She was always difficult. Spoiled, I think, by her mother to make up for her father's alcoholism.”

Judith felt her eyes widen. “Her father drank?”

“I'm afraid so,” Herman said, frowning. “Being Dietrich Wessler's elder son was a burden for Josef. The younger one, Franz, had it easier and later moved away. Josef's death was untimely in the sense that he was drunk when he fell off the balcony at Hanover Haus. He died immediately of his injuries.” He smiled in his ironic manner. “Ellie's mother was more relieved than grief-stricken. Tilde was known around town as the Merry Widow.”

“I didn't know Ellie very well until now,” Judith said, still feeling confused about the Wessler family tree. “We've had no chance to talk about backgrounds. Was Dietrich a harsh father or merely demanding?”

“He wasn't cruel,” Herman replied after a pause, “but let's say he held great expectations, particularly for Josef as his firstborn.”

Barry had returned to wipe up the floor. “Refills on the way with Jessi,” he said. “I had to give the Denkels another hit on their drinks first. Mrs. Denkel doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

“She never has,” Herman said softly.

Barry finished his task and rushed away.

“Sad, really,” Judith said. “Ellie's upbringing, I mean. Speaking of tragedies, something just occurred to me. If the cemetery is relatively new, why are Mr. Wessler's wife and baby buried there? They died over fifty years ago.”

Herman's mouth twisted. “The cemetery was created on land owned by Dietrich. Frau Wessler and her child were buried there in the forest. It was a logical place to put those who passed on later.”

“That makes sense,” Judith said. “How did they drown?”

Herman's shrewd blue eyes regarded her with something akin to amusement. “Are you writing a history of our little town?”

“I am,” Renie said, raising her hand. “I'm a graphic designer. I thought I'd tell the story in 'toons.”

“Why not?” Herman responded. “It's had its comic opera aspects.”

He paused to accept the glass Jessi offered him. “Thanks, Jess. Mrs. Jones tells me she plans to write a book about us. Or draw one.” He raised his glass and took a deep sip.

“Really?” Jessi said, turning to Renie. “Are you an artist?”

“Sort of,” Renie replied. “I do graphics.”

Judith couldn't resist putting another question to Herman. “My cousin and I happened to see the marker for a Henry Rupert Hellman. I understand he was a suicide, but why is his marker there?”

Herman looked askance. “That's a story in itself, but nobody knows how much is true and how much is rumor. He'd come here from Germany around 1950. I've only been in Little Bavaria since 1982. Hank, as he was called, had a wife and a son, but they kept to themselves. Mrs. Hellman was in poor health and died young. Some people—not all our residents back then were as broad-minded as they are now—thought he felt awkward being Jewish. He couldn't openly practice his religion because there was no temple or synagogue.” Herman shook his head. “Then one day he hanged himself from a lamppost near the town hall. Very sad.”

“What about his family?” Judith asked.

“The son had moved away. I never knew them.”

“No, not if you didn't come here . . .” Judith stopped as Herman grasped his throat, dropped the glass, and reached out to Judith. Unable to support his weight, she stumbled backward into Jessi, who let out a little scream before trying to help with the stricken man.

“Gramps!” Jessi cried. “What's wrong?”

He didn't respond. Somehow, the three women eased him onto the floor. It wasn't easy, given his size and the broken glass. Barry was running toward them. So were several other guests, including the Beaulieus and Evelyn Choo, who were coming from the bar behind Barry.

Evelyn had her cell out. “I'll call 911,” she said, a ship of calm in a sea of shock. She stepped out of the way while Judith frantically tried to loosen Herman's tie and unbutton his white shirt. The old man was turning purple, still fighting for breath. Barry was trying to keep more gawkers from crowding around them.

“Please!” he shouted. “Step back. Make way for the EMTs.”

Hands shaking, Judith tried to remember what to do from her Red Cross classes. But Herman had passed out. Or . . . she didn't want to think of the alternative. Putting a hand on his chest, she realized he was still breathing, if in a shallow, labored manner. Her own head felt strange. The headache must be coming back . . . it had been a long time since she'd taken the Excedrin . . . hours and hours and . . .

The last thing she heard was Ellie saying in her strident voice, “Now see what you've done, Judith. You've killed Herman Stromeyer.”

J
udith came to in a room that was so bright it almost blinded her. She blinked several times before realizing that she was looking up into the lights of a hospital corridor.

“It's okay,” Renie said. “You passed out. You're exhausted.”

“Where's Herman?” Judith asked, making a vain effort to sit up.

“They're working on him,” Renie said, gesturing down the hall.

Judith felt a sense of relief wash over her. “Was it a stroke?”

“I don't know. The medics arrived just after you fainted. They only had room for Herman, so Duomo put you in the paddy wagon. I rode along with you.”