Vi Agra Falls (20 page)

Judith recalled that the previous owner had two bedrooms on the main floor and another in the basement that the violinist had converted into a piano studio for his girlfriend, who gave lessons. But there had been no sign of a bed or any other furnishings when Judith and Arlene had been in the basement. “Maybe,” she hedged, and changed the subject. “Can you get in touch with Terri?”

Caitlin shook her head. “I haven't had any contact with her for…oh, I don't know how long. Fifteen years, maybe.”

Renie returned from Frankie and Marva Lou's room. “Item one,” she began, raising her index finger. “The letter that arrived via FedEx from Loren Ellsworth in Tushka, Oklahoma, who is on the faculty of Southeastern Agricultural College near Tulsa. Item two,” she went on, raising her middle finger, “another letter dated a week ago from somebody named Jim Dickson who works at the Double UB Ranch and was mailed to Frankie and Marva Lou's home in Broken Bow. Item three, a box of chocolates with only two left. Number five, a handwritten note that said ‘Could Potsy help?' and last but most ghastly, the ugliest purple polyester pantsuit I've ever seen in my life, size 46 petite. I assume it belongs to Marva Lou.”

Judith frowned. “Where are the letters?”

“You think I handled them?” Renie eyed her cousin with reproach. “I know better than that. As for the chocolates, the box was open, and you're thinking poison. Don't worry, I didn't sample the few that were left. I wasn't wearing my glasses, so I
couldn't read the ingredients to see if they might contain nuts or peanuts and send me into a severe allergy attack. Heck, I wouldn't even touch that pantsuit. I might contract a disease that would rob me of my fashion sense.”

“I don't know how you ever see out of your glasses,” Judith said, “the lenses are always filthy. As for your current attire,” she went on, studying her cousin's baggy summer slacks and rumpled T-shirt bearing the logo from a Native American casino, “it looks like you already misplaced any notion of fashionable clothes.”

Renie made a face. “You know I don't wear my good—and very chic—clothes for every day.”

“The note about Potsy,” Judith murmured. “How could he help, being dead? Unless Frankie and his wife figured he wasn't in his right mind when he made the new will.”

“That's possible,” Renie allowed. “I would've thought they'd already taken that route, though.”

“True,” Judith conceded. “I wonder if we should tell the cops about the chocolates. Any idea where they came from?”

Renie shook her head. “They're a fairly high-end national brand. They could've been bought anywhere.”

“Or sent from anywhere,” Judith murmured. “The FedEx guy dropped off a package along with the letter. I forgot to look at the return address on the box. The letter was on top. I wonder if the FedEx labels are still in the room.”

“I didn't see them,” Renie replied. “Phyliss must have thrown them out. I'll check the recycling bin.” She paused, looking at the unopened box of tempura mix. “You haven't made much progress with dinner. I'm wasting away.”

“You were going to fix dinner,” Judith reminded her cousin.

“So I was. I'll be right back.” Renie exited through the back door.

Judith turned to Caitlin. “You'll join us, of course.”

“I can't,” she said apologetically. “I'm meeting an old high school friend for dinner downtown at eight. In fact, I should change and get ready now. Do you really think it's okay to use Dad's MG?”

“Call him,” Judith said, handing over the Atlanta hotel's number. “He's probably still up. It's ten-thirty back there.”

“Thanks,” Caitlin said. “I'll do that right now.” She took her wineglass with her and headed for the front stairs.

Renie came back into the house looking annoyed. “No FedEx packaging. I checked all the bins, in case Phyliss was having a heavenly vision and dumped the wastebasket trash into the wrong receptacle.”

“That's strange,” Judith murmured. “It suggests that somebody got rid of it. We don't have a tracking number, but maybe FedEx can tell us who sent the box. Assuming, of course, that it contained the chocolates. We don't know if the Busses were poisoned, and even if they were, we don't know if the chocolates were the cause.”

Before Renie could respond, the phone rang. “You didn't return my call,” Mavis Lean-Brodie rebuked Judith. “The clock's ticking. It's almost seven-thirty. Give me your latest bulletin ASAP.”

“I really don't—”

Mavis broke into Judith's response. “You had two people named Buss hauled off from your B&B to Bayview Hospital. You think we don't keep track of nine-one-one calls at KINE? If that isn't news, what is?”

“So call the police,” Judith said. “The Busses were sick. That's all I know. They weren't stabbed, shot, bludgeoned, or pushed off a cliff. It could be flu. I'm not a doctor.”

“Flu!” Mavis guffawed. “That's good, Judith. Flu!” She repeated the word with scorn. “Since when did anybody con
nected to you and a murder investigation merely get anything as mundane as the flu?”

“I've no idea why they got sick,” Judith insisted. “If you find anything out from the cops or the hospital,
you
call
me
.” She hung up.

“That's telling her,” Renie said mildly. “How many prawns can you eat? I'm good for at least five.”

“There are only eight in the package, Petunia Pig.”

Renie stared at the prawns. “Hmm. You're right. I was never good at math. Guess I'll have to share.”

Judith ignored her cousin. She wondered if it would be better to wait to contact the police until she heard from the hospital. Maybe it
was
the flu that had struck down Frankie and Marva Lou. Viral illnesses kept getting stronger and more varied. Most people would never consider poison as the cause of illness. But experience with unnatural death had made Judith inordinately—and often justifiably—suspicious.

“I wonder why the cops haven't been around here today,” she said. “I also wonder if they've made any progress.”

“They should've already checked with you,” Renie said, mixing the batter with the ice water. “They must not know your reputation.”

“That's just as well if they don't.” Judith began slicing the bell pepper, but was interrupted by Arlene's voice coming from the back porch.

“Yoo-hoo,” Arlene called, moving briskly down the hall. “I just got home from helping Cathy stage a house for sale over on the bluff. Carl told me that you had emergency personnel here a while ago. I can't believe he didn't come over to find out why. I've never let a broken leg stop me from doing what needs to be done.”

Judith gaped at Arlene. “Carl broke his leg? How?”

“He was up on a ladder on the other side of the house after
lunch this afternoon and fell when he stepped back to see how the old paint looked in the sunlight,” Arlene explained. “Apparently, he forgot he was ten feet off the ground. I took him to the ER at Norway General, and it's only a slight fracture. The least he could've done was to pick up the phone and call you to find out what was going on here.”

Renie looked up from the prawns she was dipping into the batter. “How
did
the paint look?”

“Carl insists it looks fine,” Arlene retorted. “How would he know? He probably got a concussion, too. Men!” She shook her head in disgust. “Now tell me about your ambulances. If they'd come sooner they might have saved me a trip to the ER.”

Judith related the sudden illnesses and ensuing emergency runs to the hospital. “I've no idea why they both got sick,” she concluded.

“Oh, Judith,” Arlene said after a slight pause, “surely someone around here is trying to kill them.”

“It isn't me,” Judith said wryly. “If they did eat something that made them sick, I'll be Suspect Number One.”

Arlene stood by the refrigerator, looking thoughtful. “Was there a fracas here this afternoon? Carl told me he heard some odd noises before the emergency people arrived.”

Judith nodded. “Herself's sons got into it with Frankie. Those sons, by the way, were the waiters at Vivian's party.”

“Why were they mad at Frankie?” Arlene asked.

“Self-serving and stupid,” Judith said. “That's my guess. They probably see Frankie and Marva Lou as a threat to whatever money they can worm out of Vivian. Or Billy. The Oklahoma Busses came here to get at least a portion of the late Mr. Buss's estate. I figure Frankie presumed that Billy must feel some guilt for marrying his father's money. Judging from Marva Lou's attitude, they've failed.”

Arlene seemed taken aback. “Did the sons poison the dis
inherited Busses? Why not poison Vivian? She holds the purse strings.”

“She
is
their mother, though her maternal instincts are dubious. We don't know if Frankie and Marva Lou were poisoned.” Judith sighed wearily. “It always comes back to Vivian as the most likely victim.”

Renie smirked. “You wish,” she murmured.

“No.” Judith's expression hardened. “I'd never wish that on anybody, including her. I'm simply trying to see the logic in this case.”

Renie nodded. “Ah, yes.” She glanced at Arlene. “My cousin's famous logic. It usually works, but this time the cards are being dealt from a short deck. The people involved are all jokers.”

“True enough,” Judith agreed. “By the way,” she went on, turning to Arlene, “Joe's daughter, Caitlin, is staying with us.”

“Oh, that's good,” Arlene said. “I guess.”

“Caitlin's the one rose among Vivian's other thorns,” Judith explained. “Speaking of which, those rose petals came off of the stripper, who happens to be Vivian's elder daughter.”

Arlene threw her hands up in the air. “Holy Mother of God! How…fitting.” She paused, then snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot. Speaking of daughters, Cathy told me Vivian has filed for some kind of building permits. I ran into Mrs. Swanson this afternoon while I was on the bluff with Cathy. She said she wishes she hadn't sold the house. I told her it wasn't her fault that Vivian is a selfish, greedy woman. It's sad. The only good that can come out of all this is that Vivian and Billy will have to move out while the construction is under way. Oh,” she added, starting for the back door, “how I'd love to wring Vivian's neck!”

Renie looked up from the deep fryer, where she was tending to the vegetables. “Don't say that too loud, Arlene. You may still be a suspect.”

“I don't kill people I don't know,” Arlene retorted. “There are too many I
do
know that I'd like to strangle.” On that ominous note, she left.

Judith turned to Renie. “Speaking of strangling, we still don't know what was used to kill our mysterious corpse.”

“I thought you said there was rope around his neck.”

“The cops hadn't yet determined if the rope was the actual method,” Judith replied. “I'd like to know if it was Billy's lasso.”

Renie stared at Judith. “What lasso?”

“The one that Billy is good at using.” Judith frowned. “What if he used it for something other than showing off his roping skills?”

“I suppose,” Renie said thoughtfully, “that would depend on what he was wrangling.”

“Wrangling?” Judith repeated. “Or strangling?”

Renie shot her cousin an ironic glance. “Maybe both.”

A
fter the cousins had finished their meal of tempura and udon, Judith called FedEx to find out who had sent a parcel to Marva Lou and Frankie. “I signed for two deliveries today for guests at Hillside Manor,” she explained to a real person after answering a raft of recorded queries. “The recipients got the packages, but both fell ill and were hospitalized. I need the package sender's name in case an urgent reply is necessary.”

“I'm sorry,” the female voice said, “but I can give that information only to the recipient. If inquiries are made, I'm sure you can explain that your guests are ill and temporarily unable to respond.”

Faced with a stone wall, Judith blurted the first thing that came into her head. “What if it was a bomb?”

“A bomb?” The voice sounded composed. “Our labels require the sender to state information about hazardous materials. I assume you looked at that section when you signed for the package.”

“I never thought about it,” Judith replied.

“Did you hear an explosion?” the voice inquired. “Were these guests hospitalized because they'd been injured by explosives?”

“I hardly think that anyone sending a bomb would note that on a packing label,” Judith huffed. “I don't see why it matters if you tell me…oh, forget it!” She slammed the phone down on the kitchen counter.

“What now?” Renie asked as she came in from the toolshed with Gertrude's tray.

“FedEx won't tell me who sent the package,” Judith said, still vexed. “Where could the box have gone if not into the trash?”

“Don't ask me,” Renie said. “Your mother's on the warpath again. This time somebody stole the candy that Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince brought her last week. She blames Phyliss.”

“That's the least of my problems,” Judith grumbled. “She has tons of goodies stashed away. I'm calling the hospital to see what's going on with the Busses.”

The phone rang before she could look up Bayview's number. “Now what?” she muttered, grabbing the receiver and saying hello. No one responded. “It must've been a wrong number.” She disconnected. The phone rang again.

“Oh!” Renie exclaimed. “It's my cell.” She reached into her purse and hurriedly took out her own phone, dumping several items on the floor in the process, including two rolls of breath mints, her checkbook, a plastic compact, and what looked like a small piece of bone. “Oh, hi, Mom. I was just going to call you.” Renie shot Judith a resigned look and wandered into the hallway. “No, I didn't say I'd call as soon as I got to Judith's. I told you I'd call later…. Yes, I'm fine. No, I didn't pack extra sweaters…. Mom, it's sweltering outside…. Hey, I don't even
own
a sun hat…. Look, it's not Judith's fault that some guy got whacked down the street…. Gun? No, I didn't bring one with me….” Renie continued walking and talking until she was outside and beyond Judith's hearing range.

Before calling Bayview, Judith went into the living room to clear away the dregs of the social hour. The guests had vacated
the B&B, going their separate ways. Back in the kitchen, she dialed the hospital, but the staff was uncooperative. After five transfers, Judith couldn't find out the Busses' current status, or even if they were still alive. Frustrated, she wondered if she should ask Billy if he knew anything about his brother and sister-in-law's condition. She was still mulling when Renie, shoulders slumped and slow of step, came back into the house.

“Under fifteen minutes,” she murmured, tossing the cell into her purse. “It could've been worse.”

“It can be,” Judith said. “I'm going to see Billy. Want to join me?”

Renie recoiled. “Oh, my God! I promised Mom I wouldn't put myself in harm's way. But for you, I'll risk it.” She bent down to pick up the items that had fallen out of her purse.

“What's that thing that looks like a bone?” Judith asked.

“One of Clarence's chew toys,” Renie replied. “I'll take it to him when I put the little guy to bed. He needs to chew it more. The vet says it helps with his overbite. Maybe we should've gotten him braces when he was a baby, but it seemed so expensive at the time.”

“He's a rabbit!” Judith virtually shouted. “His teeth are supposed to stick out!”

Renie shook her head. “Not
that
far. We think he's self-conscious. It's bad for Clarence's self-esteem. Bill knows a colleague who specializes in animal psychology. We're considering therapy.”

“For you and Bill?”

“Neener-neener.” Renie made a face. “Of course not. For Clarence.”

“Let's go before I decide to kill you.” Judith led the way out through the back.

“Care to tell me why we're visiting Billy?” Renie asked as they walked down the driveway.

“To find out if he's heard anything about his relatives,” Judith replied. “The hospital staff wouldn't tell me how they're doing.”

“You can't phone Billy?”

Judith shot Renie a derisive glance. “You've obviously never had to listen to Herself's voice mail. She sings Cole Porter's ‘Make It Another Old-Fashioned, Please.' Three verses.”

“From
Panama Hattie,
” Renie said. “That takes me way back, though I was a little young to see Broadway shows in those days.”

“Maybe Herself wasn't,” Judith remarked. “She's gotten to the point where she claims to be about the same age as her eldest child, Terri.” She paused at Vivian's property line next to the Ericson house. “What would you do with a dead body if you stole it from the morgue?”

“That depends on why I stole it in the first place,” Renie replied. “If our mothers needed a fourth for their bridge club, a corpse wouldn't be much different than having Agnes O'Toole or Tina Gianelli as a partner.”

“Get serious.”

Renie thought for a moment. “Dump the body in the bay?”

“When?”

“Before it started to smell bad? Or right after it bid four no-trump with a really weak hand?”

Judith ignored the remark. “Why take it in the first place? It had to be because somebody—such as the killer—didn't want it identified. Since the corpse was first IDed as someone who isn't dead, we don't know if fingerprints were taken.”

“Didn't they know about the guy in Henderson before they put Mr. No Name into cold storage?”

“I think so,” Judith said, “but it was late in the day. For once, I wish the cops would interview me. Then I might be able to squeeze something out of them.” She used a paper towel to
wipe perspiration from her forehead. “I don't think clearly in this kind of weather.”

“Neither do I,” Renie said. “What's your theory?”

“I don't have one,” Judith admitted. “I'm trying to figure out what the body snatcher would do. The dead man was taken from the morgue sometime between eight and ten, remember? It's summer, it stays light until after nine. People are outside much later. Teenagers aren't in school, so they party at public beaches or more private spots to avoid the cops. Everything's so built up, especially waterfront property.” She gestured at the Buss house. “Single dwellings on virtually every city lot, condos being built all over the place, restaurants and shops springing up in all the neighborhoods. Would you drive the body thirty miles out of town to ditch it some place where you'd be assured of absolute privacy?”

Renie nodded. “All too true. Burying it takes time. A Dumpster's convenient, but only temporary. Where would
you
ditch a body?”

“That,” Judith said, “is what I'm trying to figure out. I only drove the last body I had in my car for three miles.”

“You didn't know it was in your trunk, though,” Renie responded, trying to keep a straight face.

“Don't remind me,” Judith shot back. “Honestly, I don't know why all these weird things happen to me!”

“And here comes one of the weirdest,” Renie murmured as Vivian came out onto her front porch, cocktail shaker in hand.

“Judith!” she cried. “Beanie! Come in, have a drink!”

“Okay,” Judith called out, walking up to the porch steps.

“It's awfully warm for this time of day,” Vivian said, fanning herself with the hand that wasn't holding the cocktail shaker. “I decided a tall, cool one would taste rather good.”

“Actually,” Judith said, “I'd just as soon have some ice water. What about you, Coz?” She turned around, but Renie had
disappeared. “Did you see where my cousin went?” Judith asked Vivian.

“No,” Herself replied, removing her huge sunglasses. “It's so bright this time of day. These lenses blur things a bit.”

So does a hundred-and-fifty-proof whatever
, Judith thought. “Maybe Renie was called away by…Oscar.” She almost gagged on the ape's name.

“Oscar is welcome to join us,” Vivian said. “Does he like to party?”

“Ah…yes, but he's…stuffed. From dinner,” Judith added as Vivian ushered her into the house.
Ohmigod, I'm falling into the Joneses' fantasy trap
.
What next? Teaching Clarence to ride a bicycle?

The living room was dark and faintly dank, though this time Billy wasn't lounging on the sofa. Instead, an older, roly-poly man Judith didn't recognize had dozed off in front of the blaring TV, where a game show was in progress.

“I'll turn that down,” Vivian said, going over to the set. “Ray's a bit deaf. Ooops!” Apparently, she poked the wrong button. The increased volume made Judith wince. “Sorry.” After several seconds, Vivian managed to shut off the sound. “Here,” she said, indicating a red-and-green-striped armchair piled high with newspapers and magazines. “Move those things and sit. I'll fix our drinks.” In a swish of her orange, gold, and chartreuse caftan, Herself exited the living room.

“Just water,” Judith called after her hostess. With a sigh, she began to remove the stack of periodicals, putting them on the floor next to the chair. The man named Ray snored a couple of times, but otherwise didn't budge.

Judith could hear a clink of glasses and a clatter of something else, but almost five minutes passed before Vivian emerged with two martini glasses, each accompanied by a large olive.

“You mustn't tease me about not wanting a real drinkiepoo,” Vivian said. “Who ever drinks just water?”

“I do,” Judith said quietly.

“Tsk-tsk.” Vivian giggled and sat down on the arm of the sofa. “How nice of you to drop by. Would you like to see the plans I'm drawing up for the condos?”

“Not just now,” Judith said. “I came to ask Billy how his brother and sister-in-law are doing at the hospital.”

Vivian waved a careless hand. “How like them to get sick while on vacation! They don't know how to have fun. Spoil-sports, I call them.”

Judith persevered. “Are Frankie and Marva Lou okay?”

Vivian sipped her martini and shook her head. “Goodness, no.” She glanced at the sleeping man. “Did you ever meet Ray?”

“I don't think so,” Judith replied. “Who is he?”

Herself burst into peals of high-pitched laughter. “Number Two Husband. Ray Campbell. He was at the party the other night.” Suddenly she frowned. “I think he was. Or was it Number Four?”

“Joe was Number Four,” Judith said grimly. “Yes, he stopped by.”

“Oh, of course!” She leaned over and tugged at Ray's ear. “Wake up, darling. Meet the secondhand Mrs. Flynn.”

Ray groaned softly and kept on sleeping.

“What about Husband Number One?” Judith asked, trying to remain civil. “Johnny Agra, right?”

“Johnny.” Herself gazed up at the ceiling. “Yes, Johnny. He was such fun. I'm afraid he died ages ago.”

Judith evinced surprise. “He must have been quite young. What happened to him?”

Vivian gulped down a good quarter-inch of her martini. “Heart attack, I think. He drank.” She took another big swallow of gin.

“You and he had a son,” Judith remarked, feigning ignorance. “Or was it a daughter?”

“Terri,” Herself said, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “Terri Lynn.”

“A girl?”

Vivian nodded. “Terri with an
i
, not a
y
.”

“I don't think I ever met her,” Judith said.

“She moved away years ago. California, I think.”

“That's odd,” Judith murmured. “I heard she was at your party.” Catching the slip of the tongue as soon as it came out of her mouth, Judith hastily clarified her remark lest Vivian think Gertrude had betrayed her trust. “I mean, someone mentioned that your eldest child was there. I assumed it was Terry with a
y
.”

Vivian's eyes flickered in Judith's direction. “Who said that?”

Judith pretended to consider the question. “Joe, maybe? It's strange, really. In all the time you've lived in this neighborhood, I don't ever recall meeting any of your children except Caitlin.”

Vivian waved a hand. “Oh, these young people! Always on the go! No time for parents unless they—” She broke off, disgusted. “I'm sure you know all about that. Kids!”

Ray suddenly jerked a couple of times and opened his eyes. “Kids? Wha' kids? Wha' time's it?” he mumbled.

Vivian held up her glass. “Cocktail time. Isn't it always?”

Ray sat up, scratching at various parts of his chubby body. He wore Bermuda shorts and a khaki tank top over a hairy chest. A pair of flip-flops lay by the sofa. Squeezing his eyes shut, he slowly opened them and stared at Judith. “Hiya,” he said without much interest.

Vivian giggled. “Ray, this is Joe Flynn's latest wife, Judith. You remember Joe, don't you?”

Ray scratched his head with its fringe of graying curly dark hair. “Was he at the party?”