This Old Souse (20 page)

“How about sending someone else?” Renie suggested. “Like…” She paused. “Like Bill?”

Judith made a face. “What does Bill do? Disguise himself as a termite inspector?”

“Squirrel man,” Renie responded promptly. “With the problems we've had, he knows all about squirrels. The Blands have them, right? Bill could say that one of the neighbors—like Elsie Bruce across the street—complained.”

“It's a wonder she hasn't,” Judith murmured. “So what does Bill do when he gets inside? Psychoanalyze the Blands?”

“He's tried psychoanalyzing the squirrels, but it hasn't done much good,” Renie replied, tugging at her short chestnut hair. “I don't know. But he'd do something. At least he'd meet the Blands and see more than the entry hall or the kitchen.”

“Maybe,” Judith allowed. “That place is harder to get into than a bank vault.” She paused to smile at the
waiter, who was placing steaming bowls of chowder in front of the cousins. “It's worth a shot. Will Bill do it?”

“I can but beg,” Renie said. “I have to admit, he's never been very curious about the house, even though I've babbled about it for years.”

“Does he know anything about what's been going on?” Judith asked as the salads arrived.

Renie speared a smoked prawn. “Well…kind of. I mean, I've told him some of it, but he doesn't always listen.”

“A peculiar quality in husbands,” Judith murmured. “Joe's the same way. What
does
Bill know?”

“I think the part about finding the body in your trunk registered,” Renie said after devouring the huge prawn in one mouthful. “But you've found bodies before, so he didn't react very much. I backtracked then and told him how we'd been scouting the Moonfleet house, which is how you happened to be there when Frank—Fred—was killed. I don't think he heard all of that. But he realizes the situation has caused you concern.”

Concentrating on the problem, Judith didn't speak until she'd consumed most of her chowder. “So you'll ask him? When?”

“When I get home,” Renie said. “Of course, knowing Bill, he'll have to think it through. You know how he approaches dilemmas—from east, west, north, south, and several compass points in between. Anyway, I'll phone you as soon as I get an answer.”

Judith didn't respond. She was watching a tugboat tow a barge out toward the sound.
THE LADY JANE
was painted on the tug's stern with smaller letters underneath reading
French's Fleet
.

“Doesn't Phil French have his headquarters a mile or so from here on the canal?” she asked Renie.

Renie also looked at the tug. “Yes. Turn right from the restaurant, and go about ten blocks. Which you will do, I assume.”

“I shouldn't take the time,” Judith said.

Renie smirked. “But you will.”

 

Philip French was in his office, an airy space that overlooked the canal that connected the sound to the large lake that separated the city from the eastside suburbs. Several tugs were tied up along the bank, all named for women. Judith could make out
The Lady Anna and The Lady Charlotte
.

Phil tried to look pleased at seeing Judith. “What brings you this way?” he asked, inviting her to sit in a captain's chair on the other side of his teak desk.

Briefly, Judith admired the oil paintings of various French's Fleet tugs as well as the framed maps of regional waters. There were a couple of other handsome ship prints as well, including a Vermeer and a Monet that she recognized from art catalogs. A perfectly scaled model of a vintage tugboat sat on Phil's desk.

“What a wonderful view,” Judith remarked, gazing across the canal at the tall poplars that lined the north bank. “I wouldn't mind coming to work in a setting like this.”

“I enjoy myself,” Phil replied, tapping a finger on the edge of his desk. “Don't tell me you want to lease a tug, Mrs. Flynn.”

“No,” Judith said with a little laugh. “I was wonder
ing how Anna is getting along after her scare the other night. Is she still leaving for Milan this week?”

“Yes, Wednesday,” Phil said, still tapping. “She's feeling fine now. In fact, she thinks it was all a trick of her imagination. You know how everyone is these days—edgy, wary, not trusting anybody who looks…strange.”

“Yet she's not nervous about traveling to Europe?” Judith asked.

“Not to Italy,” Phil replied, abruptly stopping himself from tapping. “That is, she knows Milan fairly well. Rome, too. But she
is
cutting her trip short. She'll be back Sunday instead of next Tuesday.”

“Instead of going on to Rome?” Judith asked in an innocent voice.

“Ah…no, she'dplanned to do a little sightseeing,” Phil replied, starting to tap his fingers again. “The Italian hill country or Lake Como or somewhere around there.” He cleared his throat, stopped tapping, and turned to look at the pictures on the wall.

“Do give her my bon voyage wishes,” Judith said. “I haven't been to Italy for years.”

“I will.” Phil stood up. “I've got to see a man about a boat. If you'll excuse me—or is there something else you wanted to discuss? A nice little cabin cruiser, perhaps?”

“Ah…no, I'm afraid not.” Judith was stymied. But she did have one last question for Phil. “Are the tugs named for women in your family?”

“Yes,” Phil said, coming around from behind his desk. “Maybe you saw the
Anna
tied up outside. That's for my wife, of course.”

“And
Lady Charlotte
would be who?”

“One of my aunts,” Phil replied, walking Judith out of his office and down the hall to the reception area. “By the way,” he said. “I sold the
Moonfleet.
”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. “Oh—the yacht,” Judith said. “That's wonderful. I'm glad to hear that the downturn in the economy hasn't affected everybody.”

Phil shrugged. “There are still people who have money and want to spend it. Anyway, I'm glad to have the yacht off my hands.”

“But you're getting another, bigger one, aren't you?” Judith inquired as they reached the company's entrance.

“What?” Phil seemed taken aback. “Oh, yes, when I find exactly what I want. That takes time.” He gave Judith one of his urbane smiles. “Thanks for stopping by. I'll send along your good wishes to Anna.”

Walking back to her Subaru, Judith had a foreboding that Anna would need them.

 

An hour after Judith got home, Renie called. “Bill agreed to play Squirrel Man,” Renie announced, “if he has a semilegal document to show the Blands.”

“Oh, dear,” Judith replied, making way for Phyliss, who was wielding a dust mop around the kitchen ceiling. “How do we do that?”

“We already did it. We used Uncle Al,” Renie replied. “Good grief, he's got an in with half the city.”

It was true. Al Grover had been an outstanding athlete in his day, a well-known sportsman around town, and was a former saloon owner to the Influential, especially labor leaders and city officials. While many of his cronies
had passed on to that great arena in the sky, there were still a lot of people who remembered, liked, and admired Al Grover, including at least three county sheriffs.

“I don't know,” Judith hemmed and hawed. “It wouldn't be exactly ethical, would it?”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” Renie retorted. “Uncle Al has had Bill designated ‘Squirrel Man for a Day.'”

“Bill doesn't mind?”

“Bill will do anything to avenge himself on those squirrels,” Renie said. “He might even catch one. He's bringing traps.”

“He's going today?” Judith asked in surprise.

“Right after his nap. He's taking it early. Right now he's on his way downtown to pick up the license. The trip fits in with his other errands.”

“I can't believe you talked him into it,” Judith declared. “And so quickly.”

“Bill has his routine,” Renie said, “but he knows that it's wise to break out of it now and then. Besides, he hates squirrels and he loves nuts. As in the Blands, who must be. Nuts, that is. Reclusive behavior intrigues him. Frankly, it's a type of neurosis he's never dealt with much over the years.”

“Are you going with him?” Judith asked in an envious tone.

“Of course not. Like you, I've blown my cover. Besides, this is a job for Squirrel Man. He doesn't need a sidekick.”

“I can't wait to hear what he has to say,” Judith said. “Why don't you two come for dinner? I'll barbecue some ribs,” she added, knowing Bill's fondness for babybacks. “I've got some in the freezer.”

“I'll let you know,” Renie said, and rang off.

Judith was antsy for the rest of the afternoon. By five-twenty, she still hadn't heard back from Renie. The grill was heating out on the patio; the ribs had been defrosted. Finally, at five-forty, she phoned her cousin.

“Oh!” Renie sounded dismayed. “I'm sorry, I forgot. That is, I got on the phone with Anne and we talked for over half an hour. Then I decided to call Tom and Tony. It's really hard to figure out when to get hold of Tony because Guam is like a day ahead of us.”

Judith didn't chastise her cousin. All three of the Jones children and their spouses had moved far away after their marriages. Renie—and even Bill, who otherwise wasn't fond of using the telephone—racked up big long-distance bills every month.

“Are they all okay?” Judith inquired.

“Yes, they're fine, but they're homesick. One of these days…” Renie's voice trailed off for a moment. “Yes, we're coming for dinner. Bill's at the Moonfleet house right now. He's been gone almost an hour. I'm really sorry I didn't let you know. I imagine we'll get there around six-thirty. Is that okay?”

“It's fine,” Judith said. “I'll feed Mother earlier or she'll have a fit. And the guests should be heading out by then after the social hour. We may actually be able to eat and talk in peace.”

Gertrude swore the ribs were underdone and that she'd get trichinosis. Judith assured her mother that pork was supposed to be slightly pink or else it would be like eating cardboard. Which, she added, would be difficult with her mother's dentures.

Gertrude wasn't convinced. “If I croak, I'll sue you,” she muttered, using her fork to pick at the meat. “The least you could do is cut it off the bone for me.”

Judith did, though she was clumsy.

“What's wrong with you?” the old lady demanded. “You act like Nervous Nelly. You going through the Change? Again?”

“No, Mother,” Judith assured her, “I'm really just fine. Except for worrying about Mike and Kristin and the boys.”

“Who isn't?” Gertrude retorted. “I've said the rosary so often in the last few days that I've run out of Holy Mysteries. Glorious, Sorrowful, Joyous, Miserable, Hilarious—how many Mysteries are there? I forget. And where's that darned cat?”

“Actually,” Judith said, “I believe there is a fourth—real—Mystery of the Rosary. The pope decreed it recently, but I don't remember what it's called. As for Sweetums, I'm afraid I still haven't heard anything about him. He may be exploring new territory. I guess I should put up some signs around here and over by Uncle Al's.”

“You'd better do something,” Gertrude said in an ominous tone. “Do you want that cat carried off by ravaging wolves?”

Briefly, Judith pitied any wolf that might attempt such a feat. “Cats have instincts,” she asserted. “He'll find his way back. I'm sure of it.”

But of course Judith feared the worst.

 

Renie and Bill arrived just after six-thirty. Judith had considered eating outside, but clouds were beginning
to gather in the east. She offered cocktails; the Joneses declined. They were both hungry, and Bill, who had suffered from an ulcer, preferred eating between six and seven.

With Renie's help, it took only a couple of minutes to serve the food. Judith could hardly wait to hear Bill's account of his visit to Moonfleet Street.

Bill, however, took his customary deliberate time. “Good ribs,” he remarked. “Red cabbage, too. Excellent.”

“Tell us,” Renie urged. “I practically exploded with curiosity in the car.”

Judith looked at her cousin. “You haven't heard what happened?”

Renie shook her head, dislodging a couple of wilted flower petals from her hair. Bill leaned over and plucked a dead leaf from his wife's bangs. “I was waiting in front of the house for him to pick me up,” Renie said. “I passed the time working in the garden. When I got in the car, he told me he'd save it until he got here so he wouldn't have to repeat himself.”

“You're here now, Bill,” Judith said sweetly.

Bill cleared his throat. “I was able to park on the street not far from that dirt alley off Moonfleet. I went to the back door. After a minute or two, the young TV guy responded to my knock. Alan, Adam, Aaron…?”

“Alan's his real name,” Judith put in.

“Alan. Say,” he said, using up most of the paper napkin to wipe off his greasy fingers, “I could use a warm damp towel.” He shot his wife a critical glance. “I don't enjoy feeling as if I'm wallowing around in a pigpen when I eat.”

With a sneer for her husband, Renie got up to fetch
the towel. Bill took another bite of ribs and chewed for a few seconds. “I introduced myself—using my real name since it's so common—and showed him my temporary license. He seemed upset, and said he couldn't let me in.” Bill forked up a chunk of baked potato.

“So what did you do?” Renie asked.

Bill chewed again, then finally answered the question. “I told Alan that if I didn't check out the complaint, a team of inspectors could be sent to go over every inch of the house. It's not a lie—that's what happens when homeowners refuse admission.” He began eating more ribs.