This Old Souse (16 page)

“Have you any idea who it could have been?” Judith asked as they took the turn onto the bridge.

“Of course not.” Anna sounded offended at the idea. “The fashion industry's cutthroat, but nobody tries to whack a competitor.”

“That's not a very likely theory,” Judith replied. “In fact, when you think about it, your bearded man with a elaborate headgear presents other possibilities.”

Anna seemed puzzled. “Like what?”

“What else was he wearing?”

“Oh—you know, those baggy pajamalike pants and some sort of loose top. Typical attire for that culture.”

“How tall?”

Anna grimaced. “I tried not to stare. Average, I think. Or maybe a little taller than that. What's your point?”

“My point is that your description could be a disguise,” Judith replied, exiting at the far end of the bridge to head for Hamilton Park. “Your pursuer
could have been an ordinary—if terrifying—American man. Or a woman.”

“Good grief!” Anna put both hands over her mouth as she stared out through the windscreen.

“Think about it,” Judith said. “Those loose-fitting clothes, the beard, the headgear—they could cover up just about any kind of person. The question is why would anyone try to harm you?”

“I've no idea,” Anna said in a breathless voice. “I don't know anything, I haven't done anything—I'm the original innocent bystander.”

Judith's expression was ironic. “So am I. But the cops may not agree with me.”

“This is all so strange,” Anna declared as they passed by the University's medical center. “I can't figure out any of it. What could it possibly have to do with anyone in our family?”

“I have to ask what may be a very important—if prying—question,” Judith said, recrossing the canal and turning toward the arboretum. “Have you any idea what's in the UPS box that comes once a year to your parents' house?”

Startled, Anna turned to look at her. “No, I honestly don't. How did you find out about that?”

“I'm FATSO, remember,” Judith replied with a quirky little smile. “The delivery was made the same day that Frank Purvis was killed. I know, because I was there. I've already explained that part to you.”

“I have to admit,” Anna said, “that it seems odd you showed up on that very day.”

“Curiosity and coincidence,” Judith said, not want
ing to discuss the many situations that she'd encountered by chance. “As you should know from my Web site, I have a knack for finding trouble,” she added as they wound their way through the verdant arboretum. A half-moon rose high above the tall hemlock, yew, and cedar trees. “Well? What do you know about the annual delivery?”

“I'd almost forgotten about it,” Anna murmured, “not having lived at home for so long. It's the third week of June. That's when the box always arrived. The only thing I remember is that my mother said it came from Uncle Franz.”

“Uncle Franz in Austria?” Judith inquired.

“Yes.” Anna looked surprised. “He lives in a small town near the German border.”

“Kopfstein,” Judith said, but spoke again before Anna could interrupt. “Have you ever met Uncle Franz?”

“No,” Anna replied. “He must be quite old by now.”

“An uncle or great-uncle?”

Anna hesitated. “I'm not sure. I've never known a great deal about our relatives. None of them live around here. Except for Aunt Sally, of course.”

They had reached the main street that led to Hamilton Park. “Take a left?” Judith inquired.

“Yes, all the way to the lake,” Anna replied. “Go right at the boulevard.”

Judith glanced to her left. “Broadwood Golf and Country,” she noted, “and Broadwood itself. The woman who answered at the country club had never heard of Frank Purvis.”

“Why should she?” Anna inquired.

“Because that's where your husband met Frank,” Ju
dith said. “That's why I wanted to talk to you tonight. Did Phil ever mention Frank to you?”

“I don't think so,” Anna replied. “Phil meets so many people in his business. Frankly, I don't pay much attention. They come, they go.”

“Frank went,” Judith remarked, “permanently.”

“That can't have anything to do with Phil,” Anna said, sounding defensive.

“The police might think differently,” Judith responded. “They questioned Phil today. I saw them with him at the marina.”

“Good Lord,” Anna gasped, “you seem to be everywhere.”

“Another coincidence,” Judith said, turning right onto the boulevard. “My cousin and I like crab. Where to now?”

“Take the next left,” Anna directed. “There's a gate to the condo building. Can you poke the keypad buttons to open it?”

“Sure,” Judith said, rolling down the window as they stopped by a brick pillar. “Do you trust me to know the code?”

Anna laughed softly. “It seems I've trusted you with my life.” She ticked off the numbers to Judith.

“Have the police talked to you yet?” Judith asked, working the keypad.

After a moment's pause, the gate slowly swung open. “No,” Anna replied. “Do you think they will?”

“Yes,” Judith said, “to cover all the bases. By the way, did you happen to see the license plate on the sedan that was chasing you?”

Anna shook her head. “I was too panicked.”

“And I couldn't see it after we got out of the garage because the car was always too far back,” Judith said. “When do you leave for Milan?”

“Wednesday,” Anna replied, opening the passenger door. “Hey, I can't thank you enough. You may have saved my life. It's only beginning to sink in now. What can I do to repay you?”

“How about a deep discount on Max Mara?”

Anna smiled. “You've got it. We'll be in touch.”

You're right about that,
Judith thought. But all she said was, “Give my regards to Phil.”

 

Joe had phoned while Judith was out. He'd left a message saying that they'd hit a snag. He wasn't sure when he'd be able to come home. “I hope everything's all right at your end,” his recorded voice had said with a touch of anxiety. “It isn't like you to be gone this late when you've got guests. Call me when you get a chance.”

Joe had called at a little after eleven, Omaha time. It was now one in the morning in the Midwest. But she didn't want him worrying about her. After several minutes of arguing with herself, she dialed his hotel's number. When she was connected to his room, he answered in a sleep-fogged voice.

“I'm so sorry,” she apologized. “I'm fine. I must have turned off the phone by mistake. Go back to sleep.”

“Unhh,” Joe said, and clicked off.

Judith reasoned the fib was for a very good cause. She was exhausted. Suddenly it occurred to her that
Arlene or Carl should have answered the phone. They'd arrived at the B & B a few minutes before Judith left at nine. She looked out through the kitchen window. The Rankerses' lights were still on. They were early-to-bed, early-to-rise. She'd assumed that once the guests had all returned, the Rankerses would go home. Judith dialed their number, but got their answering machine.

There was another possibility. The lights had been on in the toolshed when Judith had put the MG in the garage and entered the house through the back door. Gertrude always stayed up to watch the eleven o'clock news, so there'd been no cause for concern.

Judith went back outside and knocked once on the toolshed door.

“Come in,” Arlene called in her cheerful voice.

Gertrude, Carl, and Arlene were playing three-handed pinochle.

“As usual,” Arlene said with a merry laugh, “your mother is taking us to the cleaners. Carl and I've lost two dollars between us.”

Gertrude chortled. A green visor sat atop her white hair and she puffed on a cigarette. All that she needed to complete the picture were garters on her housecoat sleeves. “These two are real suckers,” the old lady asserted. “I've won four out of five games, and put both of them way down in the hole twice.”

“Amazing,” Carl murmured. “Mrs. G, you've got one of the best heads for playing cards that I ever ran into. You ought to join my poker club.”

“They're all men, Carl,” Arlene snapped. “And I
don't think our sweet darling here likes beer that much. She certainly wouldn't enjoy the belching contests.”

“I just might,” Gertrude put in. “I can belch with the best of 'em. And I can touch my nose with my tongue. When I take out my dentures, that is. Want to see?”

“No!” Judith cried. “Please, Mother, don't be crude.”

Arlene patted Gertrude's arm. “This dear lady couldn't be crude if she tried.”

“Damned tootin',” Gertrude replied. “Which reminds me—”

“Mother, stop it!” After glaring at Gertrude, Judith looked at Arlene. “Did everything go smoothly at the B & B?”

Arlene nodded. “Beautifully. Everyone was tucked in before ten o'clock. Except for the man with the heart attack, of course.”

Judith blanched. “What man? What heart attack?”

Arlene was studying her cards. “His name is…” She looked at Carl. “Griffin? Griffith? Gervin?”

Carl shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Greenwalt,” Judith said, feeling panicky as she recalled the names on the guest registry. “George and Lucy Greenwalt, from Nashville. Is he okay?”

Arlene shrugged. “The doctors will know more by morning, after he has some tests.”

“He's in the hospital?”

Carl nodded. “Norway General. Mrs….Greenwalt is spending the night with him there.”

“Did he have the heart attack
here
?” Judith asked.

“Yes,” Arlene replied. “In the entrance hall. He
and his wife came in just a few minutes after you left.” She looked at Carl. “Who dealt?”

“Mrs. G,” he replied. “I'm in. The bid's up to you.”

“Please,”
Judith implored, “what happened to Mr. Greenwalt?”

“What?” Arlene turned to glance at Judith. “Oh. We were chatting by the elephant umbrella stand when Sweetums leaped off the banister and landed on Mr. Greenwalt's head. The poor man collapsed. Just like that.” Arlene snapped her fingers. “I
think
Mrs. Greenwalt said her husband had a phobia about cats. When he was very young, he was chased by someone wearing a Sylvester the Puttycat costume at a Halloween party.”

“Hey,” Gertrude interrupted, “are we going to talk or play cards?”

Arlene patted the old lady's arm. “Just give me a teensy minute, sweetheart. Your daughter seems impatient.”

Gertrude scowled through her visor. “What else is new? She knows I don't like to mix cards with a lot of blah-blah. She's just trying to get my goat.”

“Anyway,” Arlene went on, with an apologetic expression for Gertrude, “Carl called 911. Naturally, they came right away.”

They would,
Judith thought. All the emergency personnel knew the way to Hillside Manor. She sat down on the arm of the sofa. “Good Lord! I hope he recovers quickly.” Visions of lawsuits danced through her head.

“The EMTs didn't seem to think it was too serious,” Carl said, then nudged his wife. “Are you going to bid or what?”

“Two hundred,” Arlene said.

“Two-ten,” Gertrude responded.

“Pass,” said Carl.

“Hold it,” Judith interrupted. “Nothing else happened that I should know about?”

“Nothing important,” Arlene replied, concentrating on her cards.

“Oh, go ahead and tell her,” Gertrude rasped. “Otherwise, she won't go away and we'll never finish this game.”

Arlene turned to Judith. “They arrested Sweetums.”

Judith almost fell off the sofa.
“What?”

Carl made a face at Arlene before he spoke. “They didn't actually arrest him. They took him to a vet to see if he's rabid. If he isn't, you can pick him up in the morning.”

“Two-twenty,” Arlene said.

“Two-thirty,” Gertrude shot back.

Since Carl had already passed, Judith stood up and leaned over to speak into his ear. “Which veterinarian?”

“I don't know the vet's name,” Carl said softly, “but it's the Cat Clinique. You know, over in the Langford district.”

“Thanks,” Judith replied, giving Carl's shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks for everything.”

“Sure.” He looked up. “Who got the bid?”

“I did,” Gertrude retorted. “For two-eighty.” She sorted her cards, discarded three, and laid down fifteen-hundred trump in clubs. “I'm out again. Pony up those quarters.”

Judith left quietly, following the concrete walk to the house. But the path that loomed in her mind led to Sweetums and the veterinarian in Langford. Fate was pushing her in that direction, and Judith wondered if she'd eventually find a killer at the end of the journey.

W
HEN
J
UDITH FINALLY
had time to look at the morning newspaper, she turned first to the obituary section. There still wasn't a death notice for Frank Purvis. But, as had become her habit in recent years, she scanned the rest of the obits. Judith was at an age where occasionally she'd find one of her peers, often an old school chum. More numerous were the parents of the youngsters she'd grown up with or met later in life. Occasionally it was a guest who'd stayed at Hillside Manor, a fellow SOT—as our Lady, Star of the Sea parishioners called themselves—or some other resident of Heraldsgate Hill. It didn't strike Judith as morbid. Rather, it was her interest in people and sense of community that compelled her to find out who had passed on. The city had grown a great deal since she was a child, but making a connection, even to the dead, enforced the idea that she didn't live in a faceless metropolis.

One surname tweaked her memory: Pettibone, Alfred Earl. She had gone to school with an Albert Pettibone, who was listed as a surviving brother.
One of four children, Alfred was several years younger than his brother. Judith vaguely recalled an Alexis Pettibone, one of two sisters mentioned. Alexis had been a couple of years behind her in school. She was only a blurred memory, but Judith did recall Bert, as he was known—a bright, skinny student with curly brown hair and a shy manner. Alfred, a longtime federal government employee, had also left behind a wife, Andrea, and two sons. Remembrances were to be made to the local humane society.

Just as Judith was about to call Renie, Mrs. Greenwalt phoned from Norway Hospital. George was doing well, Lucy Greenwalt reported, but he'd have to stay until Sunday. She, however, would return to Hillside Manor, since they'd booked their room for two nights.

“You will,” Lucy said in a soft but firm manner, “have that horrid animal put to sleep. He could have killed my husband.”

Judith winced. “I'm taking care of the matter this morning,” she said. Maybe the vet could keep Sweetums at the clinic until the Greenwalts were gone. At least Lucy Greenwalt hadn't mentioned a lawsuit. Yet.

Having planned to collect Sweetums as soon as the other guests were out and about, Judith called the Cat Clinique.

“Your pet isn't rabid,” the woman at the other end said, “but he should be enrolled in an anger management program. There are three different groupings—Ill-Natured, Bad-Tempered, and Incorrigible. Your pet would be put in the third group. You'd be amazed. He could emerge with a Happy Cat Award.”

“I'll think about that,” Judith said.

“You really should. Soon. How soon can you collect him?”

“Well—I was wondering if you could keep him overnight,” Judith said.

“Are you kidding?” the woman retorted. “He already bit Dr. Pettibone twice.”

“Dr. Pettibone?” Judith echoed. “What's his first name?”

“Albert,” the woman replied. “He was on emergency call here last night when your animal was brought in. Believe me, he has enough troubles already. His brother's funeral is Monday.”

“Oh!” Judith couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. “I went to school with Bert. I saw his brother's obituary in this morning's paper. I'm so sorry. He was only in his late forties. Was it sudden? The notice didn't mention cause of death.”

“Fred Pettibone died very suddenly,” the woman replied. “I have two other calls on hold. Please come get your cat as soon as possible.”

As soon as the sorority sisters had bounded out the door, Judith called Renie to bring her up to speed on the latest developments.

“A car chase?” Renie cried. “What are you trying to do? Get a part in an action movie? The next thing I know, you'll be hanging by your thumbs from a thirty-story window somewhere.”

“It
could
have been a coincidence,” Judith said lamely. “It may not have been the same car that tried to run down Anna in the garage.”

“Ha! You should be so lucky!” Renie paused. “Well, you
were
lucky—to escape unscathed.”

“So,” Judith went on after having finished filling Renie in, “would you mind taking Sweetums just until tomorrow?”

“Are you nuts?” Renie shot back. “What would he do to Clarence?”

“Sweetums could stay outside,” Judith suggested.

“Outside our immediate neighborhood,” Renie retorted. “Really, coz, I couldn't take that chance. If anything happened to our darling bunny…well, I can't even think about it. Try Arlene and Carl. They haven't had any pets since their dog Farky met an untimely—and mysterious—end.”

“Farky was a bit of a pest,” Judith allowed. “But I couldn't ask them. They've already had to bail me out this weekend. And don't suggest the Dooleys. They have such a menagerie of kids and pets of their own that they'd probably let Sweetums out by accident and he'd be right back here. In fact, that could happen with any of the neighbors in the cul-de-sac. Sweetums is very sneaky.”

“Hey,” Renie said, her voice brightening, “what about Uncle Al? Mike and the kids are going to be there one more night. I'll bet they'd like to have Sweetums around.”

“Brilliant,” Judith enthused. “I'll call them right now before they take off on their round of playtime pleasure.”

It was Mike who answered. After getting Uncle Al's approval, he told his mother she'd better hurry. They were leaving before noon to go to a farm that had pony rides and a petting zoo.

Judith left the B & B a few minutes after eleven. The feline veterinarian clinic was located only a few blocks away from Uncle Al's. The woman behind the desk, whose nameplate identified her as Alma Burke, eyed Judith suspiciously.

“You wouldn't happen to be Mrs. Flynn, would you?” she asked.

“Yes,” Judith replied. “I've come to collect my cat.”

“Good,” Alma said. “I'll go get him.”

Judith remained by the desk, discreetly observing the people in the waiting room. An older woman stroked a long-haired calico; a teenage girl had a black kitten in a carrier; a young woman in workout attire held a sleek Siamese. Judith wondered if Bert Pettibone was still on duty.

Alma returned carrying a cardboard box that had holes punched in it. “Here he is,” she said, shoving the box at Judith. “That'll be one hundred and forty dollars. Cash, check, or credit card?”

Startled by the large sum, Judith stammered her reply: “C-c-credit c-c-card.” She leaned her head closer to the box. “I can't hear Sweetums. Are you sure he's okay?”

“Define ‘okay,'” Alma shot back. “Yes, he's just fine.”

Judith was skeptical. She put the box down on the floor and began to open it.

“Don't!” Alma shouted. “Wait until you get outside!”

“Hey,” Judith said, anger replacing astonishment, “I want to make sure before I fork out a hundred and forty bucks.”

The first thing she saw was Sweetums's yellow eyes, glaring like traffic warnings. Then she saw the muzzle on the lower part of his face and the restraints on his legs.

“My God!” she shouted. “My cat looks like Hannibal Lecter! What have you done to him?”

“Precautions,” Alma responded. “Let's see that credit card.”

Judith fumbled in her wallet, finally producing the card. “I'm paying this under protest,” she announced. “Sweetums better be in perfect condition when I get him home.”

“Perfectly horrific.” Alma sneered as she scanned Judith's card. “Really, even though he's not a young cat, you should train him. Indeed, if there's an elderly person in your family, you ought to let him or her help. It's a fact that dogs and cats and older people bond very quickly, and the animal often takes on the characteristics of its owner.”

Judith narrowed her eyes at Alma. “That,” she asserted, “is why Sweetums is Sweetums.”

 

Mac and Joe-Joe were delighted to see Sweetums, whose restraints had been removed as soon as Judith arrived at Uncle Al's. She'd hated to keep him fettered, but was afraid he might go on a rampage in the MG and do some serious damage to the leather upholstery.

The boys wanted to take Sweetums with them to the farm, but Mike said no. Judith, however, worried about leaving the animal in Uncle Al's house.

“Stop fussing,” Uncle Al said. “We made a litter box. He'll be fine.”

“But he might destroy your furniture,” Judith protested. “He's not in a good mood after his stay with the vet.”

Uncle Al, who was tall, burly, and had a perpetual twinkle in his sea blue eyes, glanced at Sweetums, who was permitting himself to be petted by the boys. “He looks happy to me. Besides, there's nothing here that can't be replaced. I'll bet you ten bucks he doesn't do any damage.”

Judith smiled sheepishly at her uncle. “I'd never bet against you. You're too lucky.”

Uncle Al shrugged. “I suppose I could ask Tess to come over and stay with him,” he said, referring to his longtime lady friend, who had money as well as looks and lived in an elegant condo only a few blocks away.

“I wouldn't want you to bother her,” Judith said. “Besides, as I recall, she's not a cat person.”

“She doesn't hate cats,” Al said. “She just doesn't want to be bothered with pets. You run along now. We'll work it out.”

Judith kissed the boys, hugged her son and her uncle, and headed off in the MG. Five blocks away, she reached the intersection where she could turn right for Heraldsgate Hill—or keep going straight to Moonfleet Street. But, she asked herself, waiting for the light to change, what would be the point of driving by the Blands' house? None, really. She put on her turn signal to take the usual route home.

Only then did she realize that vehicles were backing up on the cross street. The light turned green. Judith followed the two cars ahead of her and looked to her left. Six blocks down, at a five-way traffic signal, she saw
flashing red and green lights. Apparently, there had been an accident, not uncommon at such a major intersection.

Judith went straight ahead to avoid the tie-up. She turned onto the main artery through Langford, going less than a block before she had to stop at the next traffic light. As she waited, she admired the floral display in front of the grocery store on her left. There was a special on gladioli, nine stems for ten dollars. The glads in Judith's garden wouldn't bloom for another month. She had the perfect vase for them—tall, curving slightly, with a glazed green finish—which she always put in the entry hall near the guest registry. When the light changed, Judith moved up a space and turned into the parking lot.

It took her a few minutes to decide on the colors. Finally, she decided on a combination of yellow, purple, and chartreuse. Upon entering the store, she noticed three cardboard boxes filled with groceries. One box was marked
GONZALES
; another read
JOHNSTON
; the third was inscribed with
BLAND
.

Judith hurried into the express lane. Impatiently, she waited for the man ahead of her to pay for his six-pack of beer and bag of potato chips. As soon as he left, Judith accosted the frizzy-haired blond checker whose name tag identified her as Jaimie.

“Is that box by the door being picked up by the Blands?” Judith inquired.

Jaimie glanced toward the entrance. “It should be. Why? Are you the designated driver this week?”

“Yes,” Judith replied glibly. “Anna couldn't make it.”

“Anna?” Jaimie's high forehead wrinkled. “Is that the one who looks like she stepped out of
Vogue
?”

“Right,” Judith agreed. “Is everything there?”

“Let me find out,” Jaimie replied before calling over to the clerk at the next checkout stand. “Is the Bland order ready to go?”

The clerk, a young man with close-cropped hair, studied what appeared to be a list next to the register. “No. They need a pound of hamburger, a cut-up fryer, and a turkey breast.”

“I'll take that order to them,” Judith volunteered, aware that at least two people were in line behind her. “Go ahead, Jaimie, I'll pay for my flowers now.”

“One of the courtesy clerks will bring the meat order,” Jaimie said, ringing up the glads. “You're not one of the regulars, are you? Do you have the address?”

“Yes, on Moonfleet, right?”

Jaimie nodded as she accepted Judith's money. “Personally,” she said with a puckish grin, “I like it when the young guy comes in. He's on the TV news, you know.”

“Yes, that would be Adam Blake, as he calls himself,” Judith said.

“His first name is really Alan. He changed his name for television,” Jaimie went on. “He's the Bland grandson. But there's nothing bland about his looks.” She smiled some more. “He wasn't on last night. Mavis Lean-Brodie mentioned that he'd been sent on a special assignment. Frankly, he's the only reason I watch KINE-TV instead of KINK or one of the other channels. Thanks. Enjoy your flowers.”

The courtesy clerk had put the late additions into the carton and picked it up. “Your trunk?” he asked as they went out into the parking lot.

Judith winced. Even though it was the Subaru's trunk that had held Frank Purvis's dead body, she wasn't keen on any semblance of a reenactment. “You can put it in the bucket seat next to me,” she said.

“Will do.”

It took Judith less than five minutes to reach the Blands' house. The yellow tape was gone. That didn't surprise her. The murder was now four days old. Morris and Trash's crime-scene experts should have finished collecting evidence from the Bland property by now.

Since it was Saturday, on-street parking was hard to find. Judith went around the block twice without spotting an open space. She couldn't carry the heavy box of groceries very far. In addition to the meats, there was a loaf of bread, a head of lettuce, three bottles of wine, and several cans of soup, vegetables, and fruit. Judith had no choice but to pull into the rutted alley and park near the back door.