This Old Souse (19 page)

Disappointment crossed the driver's florid face. “Rats. Oh, well.” She shrugged. An airport trip cost at least thirty dollars. “Is the stuff upstairs?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Greenwalt. “Room Five. And be
very
careful with the garment bag. I have some extremely fragile items in it.”

“Gotcha,” the driver said, and took the stairs two at a time.

Mrs. Greenwalt turned to Judith. “I'm not paying our bill. You owe us, as I'm sure you're aware. Good
bye.” She flounced out of the house, all three bags swinging this way and that.

Bag is right,
Judith thought, watching her guest place her belongings into the taxi's backseat. Mrs. Greenwalt, however, waited at the curb.

“Piece of work, huh?” the driver said, coming down the stairs and easily managing the suitcases and the garment bag.

“Just awful,” Judith replied, moving onto the porch.

“From around here?” the driver inquired.

“No,” Judith said softly. “An out-of-towner.”

The driver chortled. “Then I think I'll take her for a little ride.”

“Good,” Judith said, noting that Mrs. Greenwalt was watching them with a wary eye.

“Mind that garment bag!” she shouted.

“Gotcha,” the driver called back, then spoke under her breath to Judith. “In more ways than one.”

 

After the morning haze had lifted, the sun came out and the temperature rose. High sixties, Judith calculated. It was a lovely day. But somehow, it didn't feel like it.

It was after two before Judith had the rooms cleaned and ready for the next batch of visitors. Phyliss never worked on the Sabbath; she rarely worked on the day before the Sabbath, either, insisting that she had to get herself into the proper mood for worship. Over the past few months, Judith had considered hiring someone part-time to help with the weekend tasks. Now might be a good time. Students would be looking for summer jobs. She decided to put an ad in the paper.

Wanting to stay near the phone, she took it with her while she worked in the yard. But after two hours, there was no call from Uncle Al. It was likely that he'd gone out to the track for the afternoon. The ponies took precedence over all other animals, including Sweetums.

“Where's that wretched cat?” Gertrude asked, wheeling her way to the small patio. “I heard about his latest shenanigans from Arlene. Too bad he didn't claw that pain in the butt into shreds. I've no time for people like that. They think they're big shots, just because they can afford to travel. Phooey.”

Judith looked up from the flower bed next to the fence that separated Hillside Manor from the Dooleys' property. Maybe it was best to be candid. “Sweetums decided to go exploring at Uncle Al's. I think Uncle Al went to the horse races. I'll call around seven. He should be back by then. The last race goes off at six.”

Gertrude's face crinkled with worry. “You think so?” She gave herself a little shake. “Sure he will. He's too ornery to miss supper.”

Like owner, like pet,
Judith thought. Gertrude probably envied Sweetums's ability to take off and savor liberty. Maybe the old girl was vicariously enjoying the cat's escapade.

But when Judith got hold of Uncle Al at seven-thirty, Sweet-ums still hadn't shown up.

“I stuck around until almost four,” he said, concern edging into his voice. “Then I drove out to the track to catch the last three races. When I got home a little before seven, he still wasn't here. I put some chow out for
him on the back porch before I left, but it hasn't been touched.”

“Maybe he'll come back after dark,” Judith said hopefully. “The trouble is, it stays light so long this time of year.”

“Let's bet on it,” Uncle Al replied. “Seven-to-two odds. I'll call you as soon as your cat crosses the finish line at the door.”

Judith had barely clicked off when the phone rang in her hand. It was Joe.

“I had the day off, being Sunday,” he announced, sounding cheerful. “I called your Aunt Ellen and Uncle Win last night in Beatrice, and they offered to meet me halfway in Lincoln. I didn't realize they were longtime Cornhusker ticket holders. I guess the Nebraska supporters wear red even in the off-season. We had a good time touring the campus, and then we ate some excellent steak at a restaurant I'd found in the tourist guide.”

“Not one recommended by Aunt Ellen?” Judith inquired.

“I knew better than that,” Joe replied. “Your aunt's the only person I know who can still find a four-dollar buffet this side of Nevada. The part I don't get is that she insists on paying for seconds, even the coffee refills.”

“Aunt Ellen is not only thrifty, but incredibly honest,” Judith replied. “She once stood on a downtown street corner for twenty minutes with a nickel she'd found in the gutter and waited for someone to claim it. But she's also very moral. She wouldn't give it to a wino, and ended up putting it into an expired parking meter to save somebody a ticket.”

“So how are things at home?” Joe asked.

Judith informed him about Mike's departure, but tried to keep her sorrow to herself.

She was unsuccessful. Joe knew his wife too well. “You can't let this thing eat away at you. Frankly, I'm glad I had to go out of town,” he said. “It keeps my mind off of Mike's marital troubles. You should focus on something else. It's too bad you couldn't find a dead body someplace. Ha-ha. Only kidding,” he added hastily.

“Right,” Judith murmured. “So you think you'll be home Tuesday night?”

“I'll know for sure by tomorrow afternoon,” Joe said. “I'll call you around seven your time, okay?”

Judith said that would be fine. Feeling desolate, she hung up. No husband, no cat, no reconciliation, no killer. It had not been a good day.

 

Here's my plan,” Judith said to Renie over the phone the next morning. “The Pettibone funeral's at noon, Langford United Methodist Church. I can get out of here right after eleven. If you could pick me up, I can collect the Subaru from the impound and then we could drive separately to the service.”

“Nuttier and nuttier,” Renie muttered. “Okay, why not?”

“I take it Bill doesn't need the car today?”

“Not until this afternoon,” Renie replied. “Right now he's in the basement, playing with his dirk.”

Bill Jones had a limited but choice collection of swords, daggers, and other antique blades. At one point, Renie had urged him to buy a fifteenth-century
pikestaff that she wanted to use as a hat rack. Bill demurred.

Renie picked Judith up at eleven-fifteen. Phyliss, who proclaimed that Sweetums wasn't really missing but had finally turned back into the Archfiend, was knee-deep in the weekend's accumulated laundry. The parish's senior-citizen bus had picked up Gertrude, who had gone off to bridge club with Aunt Deb.

To Judith's surprise, there was no problem retrieving her car. The officers on duty were courteous and efficient. Judith didn't mention Joe's name. She felt it was best to be discreet, lest the saga get back to Joe. The thought of him blowing a gasket wasn't pleasant.

Renie led the way to the church, which was located about a mile from Uncle Al's and a half mile from the Blands' house. The day was warm and the small church was packed. Dying young always attracted a crowd, Judith thought as she and Renie allowed an usher to find them places on the aisle in the next to the last row of pews. Unlike the elderly, those who were taken too soon left behind many friends and relatives.

Renie twisted this way and that in her seat, trying to look over and around the people in front of her. “Alyssa,” she whispered to Judith. “Second row on the right, short dark hair, black suit with white trim on the collar.”

Being almost a half-foot taller than Renie and on the aisle, Judith spotted Alyssa Pettibone Barnes with comparative ease. “I don't see Bert,” she said under her breath. “He must be a pallbearer.”

“He is,” Renie replied, checking the memorial program the usher had given them. “There's a Barnes, too. That must be Lyssa's husband.”

The soloist had concluded singing “The Old Rugged Cross.” There was a pause before the minister appeared on the altar and the organ played the notes to begin the service. The mourners all stood as the casket was moved slowly into the church proper.

The six pallbearers seemed to come from two generations—young and middle-aged. Judith recognized Bert Pettibone, despite the forty years that had passed since she'd seen him last in grade school. He wasn't as thin, he now wore glasses, and his graying brown hair had receded, but the features were basically the same.

The casket, adorned with a spray of lilies and roses, rolled past the cousins. Judith bowed her head and said a prayer for Alfred Pettibone's soul and for his survivors.

The funeral was conducted with dignity and simplicity: hymns, prayers, and a eulogy by the pastor. Alfred—or Fred, as he was better known—had been a hardworking individual, a man of faith, and devoted to his family. Fred and his wife had a daughter and a son, now grown. The deceased had spent most of his life working for the government and earning high praise from his superiors. He had been taken before his time, but that was God's will.

“Bull,” Renie muttered. “That's not how it works. God gets too much blame for humankind's flaws.”

Judith nodded, but remained silent as the pastor concluded by announcing that the casket would be opened for viewing and that a reception would follow in the church hall.

“The only dead bodies I look at are the ones you find,” Renie whispered to Judith. “I'm going to track
down Lyssa and give her my condolences. Gawk, if you want to.”

Doubts about her reason for attending the services began to assail Judith. Was there any point in viewing the deceased? The hunch had come from out of left field. Often, her intuition had been proved right. But she had also been wrong on numerous occasions.

Approximately two thirds of the mourners were queued up to pay their last respects to Fred Pettibone. Judith moved into her place near the end of the line. It was a slow process. The closer she got to the coffin, the more she heard sniffles and weeping. Fred must have been well loved. Certainly the minister had made him sound like a fine man. Maybe Renie was right. Judith was going crazy.

At last she approached the casket. Taking a deep breath, she looked at the dead man.

She was right.

He might be Fred Pettibone to the rest of the world, but he was Frank Purvis to Judith.

Y
OU'RE KIDDING
!” R
ENIE
exclaimed when she and Judith rendezvoused outside the church. “How in the hell did you figure that one out before you saw the body?”

A couple of older women apparently coming from the church overheard Renie and briefly stopped in their tracks on the stone walkway. Judith looked away from them and shielded her eyes from the midday sun. “It was the way the body was handled by the police,” Judith said, keeping her voice down as other mourners trickled out of the church. “It didn't sound right, not according to what Joe has told me about unclaimed victims. Then it dawned on me that Alfred Pettibone was about the same age as Frank Purvis. There was no mention of how he died in the obituary, nor did the minister refer to it just now. Also, remembrances were to be made to the humane society. That's a good cause, but usually when someone passes away in their forties, it's heart or cancer, and the memorials are sent to related research associations or to a hospice.”

“A lucky guess,” Renie remarked drolly, but her expression became thoughtful. “Yes, not to mention that if it's cancer, there's often a brief account of the deceased's courage or the family's appreciation for caregivers. If it's an accident of some sort, there's a reference to the ‘senseless tragedy.' But I still don't quite get it.”

Judith and Renie had moved under the shade of a dogwood tree. “It was the initials, too,” Judith said. “All of the Pettibones had names that began with
A,
but they were known by their nicknames—Bert for Albert, Fred for Alfred, Lyssa for Alyssa, and, as I recall, Lexi, for Alexis.”

“So?”

“Fred Pettibone—the names start with the same initials as Frank Purvis,” Judith pointed out. “And, by the way, what did Frank—I mean, Fred—do for the federal government? His résumé was far from complete.”

“That's true,” Renie said. “There weren't any memories from the congregation, either. Not that I mind—those things can go on until I want to jump in the casket and get wheeled away along with the corpse.”

“You've got to introduce me to Lyssa,” Judith declared. “Then maybe I can meet Fred's widow. Andrea, I think her name is.”

“I assume they don't call her ‘Drea,'” Renie murmured, then narrowed her eyes at her cousin. “Surely you don't mean meeting them now?”

“Why not?” Judith responded. “I'm not going to drill either one of them, but I'd like an entrée into the family.”

Renie looked grim. “Okay, let's go back inside.” Suddenly she brightened. “Maybe they have some decent food at the reception.”

“You graze, I talk,” Judith said as they returned to the church and headed down a flight of stairs.

“But you don't conduct an interrogation,” Renie warned. “May I remind you, this isn't the place for it.”

“I know, I know,” Judith replied. “I'll be discreet.”

The reception line had dwindled to a half-dozen people. The other guests were sitting at round tables, eating finger food from the buffet that was set up under a large painting of Jesus feeding the multitudes with loaves and fishes.

Renie started for the buffet, but Judith grabbed her arm. “Hold it. Introductions first, food second.”

Renie frowned at the selection of fruit, raw vegetables, crackers, and cheese. She turned to a gray-haired woman wearing an apron and pointed to the picture of Jesus.

“Could I have what He's serving?” Renie asked.

Staring with disapproval at Renie, the woman stomped away in her sturdy shoes.

“And you criticize me,” Judith muttered, hauling Renie over to the Pettibone family, where they were receiving condolences from the last of the funeral attendees.

“Lyssa,” Renie said with a sympathetic expression that probably fooled everybody except Judith, “I couldn't leave without introducing you to my cousin Judith Flynn. We had a car problem, so she came with me. I'm sure you've heard me speak of her.”

Lyssa Barnes's smile was about as convincing as Renie's sympathy. “Oh, yes. You run a motel, don't you?”

“A bed-and-breakfast,” Judith replied. “I understand you work for the gas company.”

Lyssa, a plump woman with auburn hair and deep green eyes, nodded. “That's how I met Serena.”

“I went to grade school with Bert,” Judith said.

“Really?” Lyssa gazed across the room to where her brother was now standing by the buffet table. “I was a few years behind Bert.”

“I'm sorry about your other brother,” Judith said, noticing that the Widow Pettibone was about to move on. “I must convey my condolences to your sister-in-law. And Bert, of course.”

Lyssa called after Andrea, who had taken a few steps away from where the receiving line had formed. Andrea turned. She was a pretty woman, though pale and drawn. Lyssa made the introductions.

“I was widowed quite young, too,” Judith said, putting out her hand. “Believe me, I know what you're going through.”

“Thank you,” Andrea said, her handshake limp. “You went to school with Bert?”

Judith nodded. “Grade school. I lived in Langford for a few years before my family moved to Heraldsgate Hill. How are your children coping?”

Andrea looked in the direction of the two young adults who were talking to Bert and a woman who might have been his wife. “They're still in a state of shock. When someone passes so suddenly, it's terribly hard. Excuse me, I should be with them.”

Judith was left alone in the middle of the room. More people were leaving. Renie, in fact, had deserted Judith and was edging her way into the kitchen. Lyssa
had also moved off, speaking with an older couple who were seated at a table toward the end of the church hall.

Having no idea of what Alexis Pettibone looked like, Judith figured Bert was her last hope. He was still with his presumed wife, niece, nephew, and Andrea. It would be gauche to breach the family circle.

But a moment later, Bert left the others and headed for the exit. Judith moved swiftly, catching her prey just before he left the hall.

“Bert,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “Do you remember me? I was Judith Grover in grade school.”

Bert peered through his glasses, studying Judith's face. “I'm sorry, I don't, offhand.”

“We lived on Hyde Park Place, that triangle block,” Judith said as she heard loud noises coming from the kitchen area.

Bert peered some more. “Oh—yes, you look quite different. You used to be…”

“Fat,” Judith put in, ignoring a couple of shouts that also emanated from the kitchen. “And my hair was jet-black, not silver. It started to turn gray when I was in my early twenties, just like my mother's did.”

“You're looking well,” Bert said in his studious manner. If no longer shy, he had retained a certain diffidence. “Did you know my brother?”

“No,” Judith said, then explained about the connection between Renie and Lyssa. “I have a question for you,” she continued. “It won't take a minute. My cat, Sweetums, was at your clinic the other night. He wasn't hurt, but he'd done some damage to one of my guests. I left him with my uncle in Langford until
the guests checked out, but now the cat's run off. He doesn't know the neighborhood. What's the best way to find him?”

A hostile glint appeared in Bert's brown eyes. “Sweetums, did you say?”

Judith grimaced. “Yes.”

“I heard about Sweetums,” Bert replied, his forehead wrinkling. “From what I was told, it might be best not to find him.”

If Judith had dared, she would've stamped her foot. But possible hip dislocation was always at the back of her mind. “Sweetums is our beloved family pet. We've had him for years. Of course he can be contrary, even ornery. He's a
cat,
for heaven's sake!”

“Unlike any other,” Bert murmured. But he gave Judith a half smile. “Advertise. Put signs on utility poles near your uncle's house. A photo would help. If someone finds your cat, they won't want to keep him. That is,” he amended, “they'd want to return him to his human.”

“Thanks,” Judith said, sounding sarcastic, but quickly remembering her hidden agenda. “Assuming Sweetums is found, I'd like to bring him in for a checkup. It's been a while. There may be a medical reason why he sometimes behaves so…aggressively.”

Bert's expression was dubious, but his response was polite. “Call the clinic this afternoon. We can make the appointment for later in the week. If your pet doesn't show up by then, it's probably hopeless.”

“Don't say that,” Judith retorted. “I mean, he has to show up. Is it possible I could see you this afternoon? For grief counseling? I assume you provide such a service for bereaved pet owners.”

Bert looked askance. “We don't. We give referrals, however. In any event, I won't be in the office today. I have some personal grief to deal with.”

Judith was embarrassed. “Oh, please—I'm really sorry! It's just that I'm so upset. Not just about Sweetums, but the funeral service brought back so many sad memories. You see, I lost my husband when he was still in his forties. It was terrible.” She managed to force tears into her eyes, not so much for Dan's loss, but for the waste of his life.

“I didn't realize that,” Bert said, sounding genuinely touched. “Was it sudden?”

Judith shook her head, trying to ignore the ongoing commotion in the kitchen. “No. He'd been ill for some time.” Drinking and eating for even longer. “But it was still a shock.” Especially for the two slim undertakers who had practically had to bring in a crane to move Dan's four hundred pounds out of the house. “As I told your sister-in-law, I realize it's even worse when death comes so unexpectedly. That is, I assume Fred didn't have a long illness.”

“No. He did not.” Bert's thin lips clamped shut in a grim line. “His health was excellent.”

“An accident?” Judith asked in her most compassionate tone.

“If you want to call it that.” Bert remained grim.

“That's so sad. I hope it didn't involve a vehicle. That usually means a drunken driver or a reckless teen.”

Bert made no comment.

“It's good that he worked for the government,” Judith continued quickly, lest Bert start to move on.
“They have excellent benefits, I understand. I suppose, though, that it depends on what branch your brother worked for.”

“I suppose it does,” Bert said. “Excuse me, I have to find out when the funeral director will be ready to go to the cemetery. Nice to see you again after all these years.”

Nice,
Judith thought,
but not very helpful.
Her brooding was interrupted by the sight of Renie, holding a chicken leg, and being propelled out of the kitchen by two stout women.

“And stay out!” one of them ordered, letting go of Renie and swiping one hand against the other. “This food is for the poor!”

“Do I look rich to you?” Renie demanded, despite the fact that she was wearing a black bouclé summer suit from Neiman Marcus.

The women didn't bother to answer, but disappeared into the kitchen.

Taking a savage bite out of the chicken leg, Renie approached her cousin. “Sowadidufnow?” she asked with her mouth full.

Judith translated quickly. “Not much. Dr. Bert was very vague about how Fred died or what he did for a living.”

“But we know how he died,” Renie said after she'd swallowed her food.

It was pointless to chastise Renie for invading the kitchen. Judith surveyed the hall. “Yes.” Only a couple of dozen people were left, and most of them seemed to be family members. “Let's go.”

“How about some real lunch?” Renie said as they climbed the stairs to the main floor.

“I can't,” Judith replied. “I've got to try to sort out this latest development.”

“We can do it over menus,” Renie suggested. “I can help.”

“Let's do it at your house,” Judith said. “You have to get your car back for Bill, right?”

Renie looked at her watch. “I've got almost an hour. He won't need it until after two when he finishes his leisurely lunch.”

“Okay, then we can stop at Carlo's on the canal,” Judith said as they walked out to the sidewalk. “I'll meet you there in five minutes. Unless the bridge is up.”

Since it was after one o'clock, the restaurant customers were beginning to leave. The cousins had no trouble getting a window table where they could look out at the various craft that plied the city's only east-west waterway. Because of time constraints, they ordered their food along with their drinks. Judith and Renie requested the same items: screwdrivers, clam chowder, and small Caesar salads with smoked prawns.

“Working for the government can be a euphemism for other things,” Judith pointed out.

Renie was buttering a large chunk of warm bread. “Such as serving five to ten in a federal penitentiary?”

“That's one thing,” Judith agreed. “Sometimes spies use that expression, especially those employed by the CIA. It can also be a nice way of saying that someone is on the dole, maybe a disability pension or some other form of welfare.”

“Did Fred looked disabled to you?” Renie asked as their drinks were served.

“He looked dead,” Judith said, raising her glass. “To Fred, whoever he may have been.” She took a sip, then shook her head. “No, the Fred I met appeared hale and hearty. But that can be deceptive. Some handicaps are hard to detect. I'm convinced the answer to all this is in the UPS parcel.”

“How do you plan to find out what it contained?” Renie inquired.

Judith sighed and gazed at the eight-woman crew rowing a sleek shell under the bridge. “Heaven knows I've already tried. If only we could get inside the house and talk to the elder Blands. We've blown our cover, so that's out. I've run out of ideas.”