Wed and Buried (15 page)

“My call from the lobby may have spooked them,” Judith told Renie over the pay phone at Falstaff's. She had explained her visit with Arlene, and the subsequent sighting of Tara. “What really bothers me is that blasted Belmont. I think it holds the answer to this whole, crazy mystery.”

“So let Joe figure it out,” Renie said, sounding exasperated. “I'm working, coz. I have a deadline, remember?”

“I thought you might ride with me to the Belmont so we could take another look,” Judith said in her meekest voice.

“No!” Renie exploded. “Absolutely
not
. I've had enough of the Belmont. I thought you did, too. What good did it do to go there this afternoon?”

“That was before Esperanza showed up at the B&B,” Judith said, turning mulish. “She thought TNT had gone there. Why?”

“Because it's a free flop,” Renie responded. “Now hang up and let me finish this wretched project.”

Judith had no choice. When she returned with the ice cream, Gertrude still couldn't remember anything about a bean pole. Judith gave up on her mother, too. Feeling futile, she crept upstairs to the third floor and joined Joe in watching the ball game. If he'd noticed that his wife had been gone for awhile, he didn't mention it. Judith was beginning to feel like a cipher.

And then she thought of O.P. Dooley, and her spirits rose. Oliver Plunkett Dooley was a younger brother of Judith's former paper boy and erstwhile sleuth-in-training. The large, extended family not only lived in back of Hillside Manor, but just under the brick and granite eminence of Belgravia Gardens. When Dooley, as Aloysius Gonzaga was more familiarly known, had gone away to college, he had bequeathed his telescope to his brother. On a previous occasion, O. P.'s aptitude for spying on the
neighbors had proved beneficial in tracking down a murderer. Judith decided it was time to put O. P. back to work.

Calling on the Dooley ménage required walking to the entrance of the cul-de-sac, going around the west side of the block, and ending up at the far corner. As ever, the Dooleys' front yard was strewn with trikes, bikes, and all manner of playthings. Corinne Dooley, an amazingly placid woman who never seemed disturbed or dismayed by domestic crises, was swaying gently in a lawn swing on the front porch.

“Judith,” she said with genuine pleasure. “How are you? I didn't get a chance to really talk to you at Mike's wedding reception. It was lovely.”

“Thanks,” Judith replied as two small children zipped out through the front door and chased each other around the yard. “Is O. P. home?”

“I think so,” Corinne replied, paying no heed to the little boy and little girl who were now rolling around in an uncovered sandbox that had been turned to mud. “Try the downstairs den. Or his room.” O. P.'s mother evinced no curiosity over Judith's reason for calling on the boy. No doubt, Judith thought as she made her way through the cluttered house, Corinne's children and grandchildren had been called upon by many people throughout the years. If it was trouble, Corinne would hear about it later. If it wasn't, then it didn't matter. Either way, the Dooley matriarch took whatever came in stride. Her equanimity amazed Judith.

There were several children in the downstairs den, but none of them was O. P. Judith trudged back up the stairs and made her way to the second floor. Zigzagging between piles of laundry, both dirty and clean, Judith stepped over a wary hamster and peeked into the open door that she had figured must belong to O. P. Sure enough, the boy was sitting on his bed, playing a video game.

“Mrs. Flynn!” O. P. exclaimed in a startled voice. “What's up?”

“How would you like to do some detective work?” Judith asked with a conspiratorial air.

O. P.'s blue eyes grew wide. “Like that other time, when Mrs. Goodrich got whacked with the axe?”

The reference to a grisly neighborhood murder that Judith had helped solve made her grimace. “Like that. Except this time it wasn't an axe.”

“Wow!” O.P. popped off the video game and perched on his knees. “Who was it? Somebody around here?”

Judith shook her head. “It was that disc jockey, Harley Davidson. Did you ever listen to him on KRAS-FM?”

At thirteen, O.P. was into the local music scene. “Sure. I heard he got killed, but not exactly how. What happened?”

Judith started to explain, but was interrupted by the arrival of Dooley himself. “I didn't realize you were home from college,” Judith exclaimed, giving the older boy a hug.

Dooley, who was now well over six feet and beginning to fill out, gamely hugged Judith back. “I got out of school a couple of weeks ago, but I went camping with some friends for a few days. I got home Wednesday. Don't tell me you're tracking down another killer?”

Somewhat to her chagrin, Judith admitted that indeed she was. “Mr. Flynn's working on it, too,” she clarified. “But some of the suspects may be in this neighborhood.”

Clearly intrigued, the Dooley brothers eyed each other. “Wild,” Dooley breathed. “Who is it this time? Mr. and Mrs. Rankers?”

Judith couldn't help but laugh. “No, but Arlene—Mrs. Rankers—was with me today when I spotted one of the witnesses. We were at Belgravia Gardens, going through the vacant condo, and…”

As Judith's tale unfolded, her eyes strayed to O. P.'s windows. He had a corner room, and while one window
looked out over the cul-de-sac, the other faced the hill behind the Dooley and Flynn houses. Belgravia Gardens' imposing facade looked straight down onto the Dooley property.

“So what I was wondering,” Judith concluded after a lengthy recital that was interrupted by many questions from both boys, “is if you could see into the top floor of those condos with your telescope.”

O. P. jumped off the bed and went over to the telescope which was positioned in front of the back window. “The angle's going to be tough,” he said, peering through the lens and making some adjustments. “Gee, I think the building's too tall. Maybe if we moved the telescope into the attic, we could see better.”

“That's a lot of trouble,” Judith said, but her quibble ceased when O. P. and Dooley insisted on giving it a try.

“Some of the littler kids sleep up here,” Dooley noted as they ascended a narrow wooden staircase that smelled of camphor wood. “Don't trip over anything. It might be one of the kids.”

As far as Judith could tell, there were no children rolling around on the attic floor. The dormer room that looked up onto Belgravia Gardens was filled with clothes, toys, and unmade beds. The brothers eased the telescope into place, and O. P. took a look.

“Way cool,” O. P. murmured. “All these people must be rich. I watched this place being built, and that was pretty cool, too. Mrs. Rankers came over to look through it a couple of times. She said she was keeping track of stuff for her daughter, the real estate lady.”

“That's what she said, huh?” Judith smirked, then caught herself. She, too, was snooping, and had no right to criticize Arlene. “Well? What about the penthouse?”

“You mean the top floor?” O. P. still had his eye glued to the telescope. “I can see in—sort of. The angle's still not real good. Lots of fancy furniture, but no people. Here, have a look.”

Judith affixed her eye to the lens. She saw the antiques or antique reproductions that Phyliss had mentioned. The living room appeared beautifully, if lavishly, decorated. Two other, smaller windows also faced south, but the drapes were pulled. Like O. P., she saw no activity of any kind.

“I'll bet they left,” Judith said, more to herself than to the boys. “But they'll have to come back. Or will they?” She stood by the telescope, tapping a finger against her cheek.

“Do you want us to keep a watch on the place?” O. P. asked eagerly. “Now that school's out, I've got lots of time.”

“Sure,” Judith replied, though she wasn't certain what good it would do. The stakeout was in effect. But after the initial rush of freedom, no doubt O. P. was already growing bored with summer vacation. “The man who lives there is named Bascombe de Tourville, and although I haven't seen him…” Judith did her best with Phyliss's sketchy description, but painted a more precise picture of Tara Novotny. For good measure, she threw in TNT Tenino. “There are two officers watching the condos,” Judith noted. “If Tara and de Tourville left before the stakeout personnel arrived, they'll be intercepted when they try to get back inside.”

O. P. nodded solemnly. “Got it,” he said.

Judith and Dooley left O. P. at his post. “I used to listen to Harley Davidson all the time before I went away to college,” Dooley said as they maneuvered the narrow stairway. “He was one wild guy.”

“Did you ever see him in person?” Judith inquired.

“Once. It was a rock concert at one of the downtown theaters. Harley was outrageous. It was great.” Dooley smiled at the memory.

Judith and Dooley were now heading for the main floor. “Did you know he was blind?” she asked.

“Blind? No! Wow, that's the bomb! He sure didn't act
like he was blind.” Dooley stood on the landing, running a hand through his fair hair. “But then he didn't do anything except stand there and get down with the bass. After he surfaced on stage in the submarine, that is.”

“I understand he was well paid for those gigs,” Judith said as one of the two children who had been rolling around in the sandbox charged through the front door screaming.

“I guess,” Dooley said, scooping up the screaming child. “Hey, Pius X, what's wrong? Did you hurt something, little buddy? Come on, Pix, tell your uncle all about it.”

Never ceasing to be amazed at the saintly names and peculiar nicknames given to the Dooley brood, Judith exited to the front porch. Corinne was still swaying in the swing, looking blissfully unperturbed and seemingly unaware that the other small child was now naked and riding the dog around out on the sidewalk.

“Did you find O. P.?” she inquired with only a slight move of her head.

“Yes, thanks. Um…” Judith hesitated, one hand gesturing vaguely at the street. “Is it okay if…?” Wincing, she let the words trail away.

“Everything's okay,” Corinne replied, turning neither head nor hair. “Everything's always okay. See you in church, Judith.”

Judith left. The child and the dog followed her to the corner, then stopped and turned back. Apparently, even the Dooleys had some sort of limits.

Or maybe the dog was better trained than the family.

 

Saturday morning, Joe left for work while Judith was serving breakfast to her guests. Ordinarily, he would have been out of the house for at least half an hour before the eight-thirty dining room call. But this was a weekend, and Joe wasn't inclined to push himself.

Neither he nor Judith had heard any news from their
respective lookouts. Consequently, Judith had to assume that de Tourville and Tara hadn't returned.

After her guests had left for the day, Judith felt at loose ends. She didn't dare pester Renie, in case her cousin was still working. It was still drizzling, which meant working in the yard was off-limits. Trying to track down the lost lavender dress after nearly a week seemed hopeless. Checking in with the Rundbergs about the wedding bills was daunting. Aside from the usual cleanup, Judith had nothing to do. She wandered around the long living room, pausing to put in a couple of jigsaw puzzle pieces.

Her eye strayed to the chunky envelope that held Mike and Kristin's wedding proofs. Maybe she should check some of her favorites now, before the honeymooners returned on Tuesday. Judith carried the packet over to one of the matching sofas and sat down.

There were at least two dozen photos that she felt she must keep. Some were at the rehearsal dinner, several were at the church, and most came from the reception. Judith smiled fondly at the shot of her son and his bride as they toasted each other over the family dining room table.

On a faintly wicked whim, she dialed Morris Mitchell's number. To her surprise, the photographer himself answered.

“My weekend receptionist's sick,” he said tersely. “She gets sick every time it rains. She should never have moved here from California.”

Briefly, Judith commiserated. “Say, Morris, could you send the bill to Kristin's parents? They're paying, and it seems silly that it should have to be forwarded through me.”

“You signed for it,” Morris pointed out, not unreasonably.

“Of course I did,” Judith agreed. “But it's such a nuisance, and this way, you'll get your money sooner. I'll give you their address.”

After the photographer had taken down the address of the Rundberg wheat ranch, Judith posed a question. “On the night of the rehearsal dinner, did you see anything unusual on the roof of the Belmont Hotel?”

“The Belmont Hotel?” Morris echoed, sounding surprised. “Is that what's next to the Naples? Hunh. Let me think. Why do you ask?”

Judith swallowed hard before offering her candid explanation. “Please don't think I'm crazy, Morris, but the night of the rehearsal dinner, I saw Tara Novotny and Harley Davidson on the Belmont roof. Some people—such as my husband—don't believe me. But they were there, still wearing their bridal gear from Mr. Artemis's fashion show at I. Magnifique.”

“No kidding.” To Judith's relief, Morris didn't sound surprised. “And not long after that, Harley gets whacked in Mr. Artemis's tux. You didn't see
that
, did you?” The photographer seemed amused.

“No,” Judith admitted. “Did
you
see them?”

“Afraid not. I must have been shooting away from the windows. Damn, it would have made a good picture,” Morris lamented. “You know, wedding couple inside, wedding couple outside. A double image. I wish you'd told me at the time.”

“It all happened so quickly,” Judith said, deciding it was pointless to mention having seen Harley push Tara off the roof. “I mean, they weren't there for more than a minute.”