The Wurst Is Yet to Come (27 page)

Judith grew thoughtful, but gave a start when the waiter brought their bill. “Could Wessler's Nazi hunting be a motive for murder?”

“Don't quote me. Oh, go ahead, it's a story that's gone around town for a long time. Maybe it's a myth, like Eustace. But the stag apparition is a better-looking visual than some poor dude falling out of a boat. Especially given today's sermon. How bored were you?”

Judith couldn't help laughing. “I have to admit I was still tired from my spell last night.”

Dash waved a hand. “Forget it. I'm better at writing legal briefs than I am at sermons. Not my strong suit.”

“We're lucky at Our Lady, Star of the Sea,” Judith said. “Father Hoyle is one of the few priests I've known who gives a good homily.”

“I admire that,” Dash said, reaching for his wallet. “Let me make up for the sermon by paying the—”

“No!” Judith protested. “I only put five dollars in the collection. It's the least I can do. Please?”

Dash hesitated—and shrugged. “Okay. If you're here on business, deduct it twice on your income tax—once for business, once for charity.”

“Isn't that a sin?”

He shook his head. “Not unless you're using counterfeit money.”

J
udith and Dash parted company at the corner. He headed for the rectory, which, as Judith had guessed, was separate from the church. The priest was meeting at one o'clock with Klara and Franz Wessler to begin plans for the Requiem Mass. Feeling much better after a good meal and the priest's company, Judith decided not to go directly to Hanover Haus. Instead, she walked across the street, heading for the police station. Maybe Fat Matt had the analysis of Herman Stromeyer's stomach contents by now.

Judith felt she shouldn't have been surprised when Orville said the chief wasn't in. “The wreck on the pass was a real mess,” he explained. “We got three in the hospital here and a couple of dead people headed for somebody else's morgue. The boss was so upset he kind of tied one on at the beer garden. He should be in around one. Or two. Or so.”

“I suppose that's why he wasn't at church,” Judith said pointedly. “Did you get the report on Mr. Stromeyer from the doctor yet?”

Orville nodded. “I put it on the chief's desk.”

“Good,” Judith said, and headed for Duomo's office.

“Hey,” Orville said in a mild tone, “you can't go in there.”

“Watch me.” She opened the door. “See? I'm doing it now.”

Judith heard Orville sigh as she closed the door behind her. The report was in plain sight in a manila envelope stamped with Frolander's name and the hospital's address. Before sitting down, she made sure that there was nothing in the chief's chair—like a bag of doughnuts.

The doctor's findings were what Judith expected. Traces of aconite—or wolfsbane—had been found. Herman had eaten a light supper before the cocktail party. The report contained nothing more of interest, other than mentioning that the amount he'd consumed wasn't fatal. She was getting up from Duomo's chair when Ernie Schwartz came into the office.

“Have you taken over for the chief?” he asked.

Judith noticed his droll expression. “I wanted to see the results from Herman Stromeyer's brush with death last night.”

Ernie eased himself into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. “You seem to have recovered from whatever happened to you. I thought maybe you were poisoned, too.”

Judith shook her head. “I think it was exhaustion.”

“You need more sleep.” He yawned. “I could use a nap myself.”

Leaning forward in the chair, Judith made sure she was making eye contact. “Ernie—tell me about Wessler's Nazi-hunting exploits.”

The sleepy eyes sparked. “Why?”

“Isn't my curiosity natural? Aren't we looking for motive?”

Ernie's shoulders sagged. “I see your point. But that all happened in Germany.” He sat up straighter. “There were rumors when I was a kid that somebody around here was suspect. Assumed name maybe, new identity, respectable, you know the drill for those guys who tried to start over. But whoever it was never got fingered by Wessler. He died several years ago. The rumors dried up.”

“What was his name when he was in Little Bavaria?”

Ernie fingered his chin. “The wife's still around. Must be getting up there in years. Her husband's name was Helmut Bauer.”

 

Chapter Nineteen

I
've met Mrs. Bauer,” Judith said. “She told me her husband had died of shame because of malicious lies.”

Ernie yawned. “Could be.”

“Had Mr. Bauer actually done something despicable?”

The major gripped the table with both hands. “I'm Jewish, I know what those SOBs did to some of my relatives. You want gory details? I might not like the replay, but do you think I've forgotten?”

“Of course not,” Judith said, realizing that not only were the major's eyes wide open, but they seemed to almost sizzle. “Nobody should ever forget it. Not only Jews, but Catholics, Lutherans, Gypsies, Communists, political dissidents, and so-called defective human beings.”

Ernie leaned back in the chair. “True. As for Bauer, I'm not sure what the accusations were. Maybe he was at one of the camps.”

Judith thought it might be wise to change the subject, lest Ernie work himself up into a frenzy—or nod off. Maybe, she thought, that's why he fell asleep so often. It might be his way of not envisioning the horror that was Hitler. “What happened to Bauer's daughter?”

“Hmm.” Ernie frowned. “She was a year or two younger than I was. I can't remember her name . . . Isabel? Irene? Something like that. Tall, fair-haired, not the kind a guy would stare at, but not homely either. By the time I got back from 'Nam, I think she'd moved away. At least I don't remember much else about her except from high school.”

“It must've been a small class,” Judith said.

“True, but she was at least two years behind me.” He smiled faintly. “You know—in high school the older kids don't pay much attention to the underclassmen.”

“How did you end up here?”

“My folks spent the war in an English village. They'd gotten out in 1938. After the war, they thought about moving to Israel, but that wasn't happening yet, so they emigrated to the States. They had relatives in New York, but Pa and Ma were small-town people who hated cities. My father dreamed of owning a grocery store. A cousin of his worked for the Department of the Interior. He'd spent a lot of time around here when they were building dams on this side of the mountains. After the cousin retired to Lake Shegogan, he urged my folks to move here. They ran the local grocery store for thirty years.”

Judith smiled. “I didn't mean to pry. I wondered how a Jewish family would feel about moving where there were so many Germans.”

“Back then, there weren't as many,” Ernie said. “That came later, after Wessler started beating the drums to turn the town around. When I was a kid, most people were logging and railroad workers.” He looked at his watch. “The chief should be showing up soon. I'd better get some shut-eye before he comes in. Good luck with whatever it is you're doing.”

After Ernie ambled away, Judith decided she'd better move on, too. She felt better, but guilt niggled at her. If she took her time, the two-block walk to the B&B exhibit shouldn't tire her out. Assuming, of course, that the booth was still standing. Judith didn't want to think about the havoc Renie might wreak if aggravation overcame her.

The sun had come out while she'd been in the chief's office. It was a beautiful fall day, crisp and clear, with new snow on the mountains. The ground in the village, however, was all but bare. Judith figured the temperature must be in the high thirties. As she started down the main street, she glanced up at the clock tower. It was ten minutes past noon. On a whim, she decided to stop in at Sadie's Stories. Maybe Jessi would have fresh news about her grandfather's condition.

The streets were more crowded than ever, but the bookstore wasn't busy. Judith figured most visitors were in search of lunch or brunch during the noon hour. Jessi was behind the counter ringing up a half-dozen children's books for a family of five. Barry was helping a young couple choose a travel atlas. Only two other customers, both elderly women, were browsing the shelves.

“Hi,” Jessi said after the family exited. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Judith replied. “How's your grandfather?”

“Improving.” Jessi checked to make sure no one was listening. “The doctor said it was some kind of poison. I can't believe it!”

It suddenly occurred to Judith that she didn't know if the general public had yet learned the real cause of Dietrich Wessler's death. “Maybe someone made a mistake,” Judith hedged, not wanting to alarm Jessi. “Did Doc Frolander go into details?”

“I didn't talk to him very long. He's worn out and was going to get some rest. I called my parents again, but told them not to come up here as long as Grandpa's better. They always spend Christmas here. Still, they're really upset.”

“Of course,” Judith said. “Do you have any books on saints?”

“You mean Catholic saints?” Jessi saw Judith nod. “Yes, I think we have two—one for children and one for adults. I'll show you.”

She led Judith to the religion section. “It should be right here, but it's not. My fill-in, Mrs. Zook, must've sold it. Would the children's version be any help?”

“No,” Judith said. “I'm looking for an obscure person.” Seeing that the young couple had made their choice of an atlas, she let Jessi go to the register. Judith strolled over to the travel section, where Barry was straightening the shelves. “Have you got time to talk to me—and my cousin—about what happened to your dad?”

Barry adjusted a staff recommendation sign on the shelf featuring German tourist guides. “I don't know very much. As I told you, I wasn't here when it happened. You should talk to Mom, though she doesn't know anything more than the police do.”

Judith nodded. “I'm on my way to meet Serena. Could we get together for coffee at the café downstairs in fifteen minutes?”

He glanced at Jessi, who was giving a smiling send-off to the couple with the atlas. “Sure. Maybe I can pick up some lunch there for Jessi and me. Hey, I'm glad you're feeling better.”

“So am I,” Judith said, returning to the counter. “Say, do you recall anyone who lingered around the Thomas Mann bust lately?”

“No,” Jessi replied. “Only the brat who broke it. Why do you ask?”

“My cousin thinks the bottle might've contained poison,” Judith said. “Chief Duomo is having it analyzed.”

“I don't get it,” Jessi said. “If somebody deliberately poisoned Grandpa, the bottle wouldn't have been there
before
it happened.”

“A valid point,” Judith said, “but Serena is so dogged about the tiniest detail of a crime she's working. She's got that kind of mind.”

Jessi gaped at Judith. “She's investigating Wessler's death?”

“Gosh,” Judith said, backpedaling to the door, “I thought you knew she's a supersleuth. See you later. Oops!” she exclaimed, bumping into a postcard display. “I'm meeting her now. She subbed for me at the B&B booth.”
Or what's left of it,
Judith thought grimly, and wished that the book title she'd just glimpsed wasn't
The Last Train from Hiroshima
.

T
o her great relief, the booth was still intact. Several people were obscuring Judith's view of Renie and Eldridge Hoover. But as she got closer, she spotted her cousin bobbing up to hand over some brochures and what looked like a map. Amazingly, the would-be inn patrons seemed in a jocular mood.

“Hi, coz,” Renie called. “Just took a reservation for Hillside Manor from these wonderful folks who live in Pocatello, Idaho. That makes sixteen so far. You're going to enjoy the Fawcetts,” she added, gesturing at the middle-aged couple. “They're anything but a pair of drips! Right, guys? Meet your innkeeper.”

The Fawcetts laughed like crazy.

“Hi,” Judith said a bit uncertainly. “It's nice to meet you.”

Eldridge leaned sideways to look at Judith. “We've had a swell time. Can't believe our stint is up already. Roonie here is a real funster!”

Renie held up her hands in a helpless gesture. “Hey, 'Dridge, being with you is like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and the Fourth of July rolled into one. Here come Phil and Jeanne. Much as I hate to say it, I'd better scoot.” She grabbed her purse, blew Eldridge a kiss, and left the booth.

“If,” Renie said, after they were out of earshot, “you ever ask me to do anything like that again, I swear I'll kill you.”

“But you seemed to—”

“Of course I
seemed
to,” Renie snarled. “I do this for a living. Be nice, I mean. I get paid big bucks for it. And then I go home and verbally abuse Bill, Oscar, and even Clarence. Oh, they ignore me, so I retreat to the kitchen and break something.”

Momentarily distracted by the Bavarian boar who was driving a wagon full of laughing children, Judith didn't know what to say. “Did you really take sixteen reservations?”

“Of course. I charmed, wheedled, and entranced those suckers—just like a design presentation, only with comfort and cuisine instead of art and artifice. God, but I can be a phony! Sometimes I scare me.”

“When?”

Renie glared at a dachshund wearing a purple hat before turning to shoot the same look at Judith. “When what?”

“When are the upcoming reservations?” Judith asked meekly.

“Four in November, two in December, and the rest in January—your slowest month. How do you like that for push and shove? Six of those people weren't even planning on coming to our fair city.”

“Thank you. I mean it. But stop—we're going to Kreuger's Kuchen. It's right there below the bookshop.”

“We are? You're going to feed me?”

“No. We're having coffee with Barry. You're the sleuth again.”

Renie sighed. “Another hat for me to wear. Sheesh. Why not? It's a wonder you didn't have me assist at Mass or play the tuba in the marching band that's coming down the street and will probably take a detour so they can run us over.”

The band kept marching. Judith and Renie kept walking—straight into the café. Barry wasn't there yet. Apparently customers seated themselves. Judith pointed to a table near the door. “That way Barry can see us,” she said.

Renie practically fell into a chair. “I'm exhausted. Being nice wears me down. Why are we interrogating Barry? Is this the Stafford murder case? I like to know ahead of time what crime I'm solving.”

“Yes.” Judith noticed menus, but wasn't hungry. “I'm having a beverage. Go ahead, order something. I'll treat.”

Renie looked indecisive. “I went to the bakery and bought a bunch of stuff. Frankie's kind of surly. Maybe that's another reason why Franz didn't want to deal with him yesterday.”

“There's an undercurrent of tension with a lot of people around here,” Judith said, relieved that her cousin seemed to be regaining her equilibrium. “Before Barry arrives, let me catch you up on some things I've learned since we parted company.”

Judith quickly summed up her recent activities. The only interruption was by their server, a pert young woman who took the orders for Judith's mocha and Renie's root beer.

“You've got a book about saints at home, don't you?” Judith said when she had finished her recital.

“Three of them,” Renie replied. “So? Bill won't answer the phone.”

“Well . . . how else will we find out who the mystery nonsaint is?”

“Why do we care? It sounds like one of your dumber ideas. If this person was never canonized, she probably wouldn't be listed anyway.”

“You told me a while ago that at least one of your books listed all sorts of nonexistent saints. Mrs. Bauer said this was a real person. If Mr. Bauer was suspected of being a bad Nazi, I'm interested.”

Renie shrugged. “If we had a computer . . . Maybe they've got one we could use at Hanover Haus. Though I doubt the old bat who's usually at the front desk would let us use it.”

“Jessi might,” Judith suggested. “Or the cops.”

“You're right, especially if Duomo is still hungover.” Renie nodded toward the entrance. “Here comes Barry.”

“Sorry,” he apologized. “The store got busy all of a sudden. I have to get takeout for Jessi and me because she wants to see her grandfather this afternoon. I'm going to sub for her.”

“Say,” Judith said, “why don't you go with her? Serena and I can fill in. I'm a librarian. I worked for years at the Thurlow Public Library.”

“No kidding?” Barry grinned. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Yes,” Judith replied. “Serena did an amazing job at the B&B booth. She can sell books to people who don't know how to rea . . . oof!”

Barry looked alarmed as Judith winced in pain. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I'm fine,” Judith said, trying to smile even as she retaliated for Renie's kick by stamping on her cousin's foot. “Just a little twit. I mean,
twinge
. Here's the waitress with our dinks. That is,
drinks
. Are you going to order now?”

“Ah, sure,” Barry said. He took a quick look at the menu, ordered chicken-salad and ham-on-rye sandwiches with side salads to go. His immediate request was for a double tall latte. “Okay, I'm set, but I can't offer much about Dad's murder. It seemed like a random thing.”

Judith licked her lips to get rid of any mocha residue. “Did you see the letters he received from the disgruntled client?”

“I did,” Barry said. “Duomo thought they were mildly threatening, but the guy sounded more like a griper. I'm guessing it was a guy because the legal issue was how he got screwed over in a child custody dispute. He blamed my dad for mishandling the case.”

Renie nodded. “Your garden-variety sorehead. But why wouldn't he sign the letters? How could he expect your father to know which case it was? He must've handled tons of custody battles over the years.”