Wed and Buried (25 page)

Judith shot Renie a dubious look. “Like what?”

Renie grinned. “Take your mother with you to the audit interview. It'll serve the IRS right. If worse comes to worse, you can leave her there. See you, coz.”

Renie left.

 

Joe wasn't as sanguine as Renie about the audit notice. To Judith's surprise, he recognized the envelope's significance even before he saw its contents.

“I told you we should have put your mother in a retirement home,” he shouted as he stomped around the living room. “It isn't just whether or not she's living at the same address, but her net worth. Don't try to tell me she doesn't have money socked away some place. To claim her as a dependent, she has to be virtually broke.”

“She may be,” Judith said in a small voice. “I had to borrow from her quite a bit while Dan and I were married.”

Joe stopped in the middle of the living room and stared
at Judith. “Are you trying to tell me that she still does her own books? How can she, when she's so addled?”

“She's still sharp about some things,” Judith said in a defensive tone. “I wouldn't dream of offering to take over her finances. She has so little independence left, and it means so much to her.”

Joe threw up his hands. “This is crazy! You've been claiming her when you don't even know what she's got stashed away? Do you realize what kind of trouble we can get into?”

Judith, who was sitting on the arm of one of the matching sofas, cast her eyes down at the Persian carpet. “We pay everything for her,” she murmured. “Why doesn't that make her a dependent?”

Joe clapped his hand to his forehead. “Jeez! It doesn't work that way, that's why. And if you've been dumb enough to foot all her bills, she's probably got a big savings account. Social Security, your father's pension, whatever.” He collapsed onto the windowseat and shook his head.

Judith swallowed hard. “Are you and Woody going fishing tomorrow?” It seemed prudent to change the subject.

“What?” Joe reacted as if he'd never heard of fishing. “Oh—fishing. Yeah, I think so. Woody wants to try out his new fly rig. We'll hit one of those lakes above the family cabin.”

“That sounds nice.” Judith teetered on the sofa arm. “If it's not too hot, I'll work in the garden.”

Joe didn't comment. Rising from the windowseat, he scratched his head in a stupefied manner and headed out through the Fench doors. Judith slipped onto the sofa and stared at a wilting floral arrangement that had been part of the decor for Mike and Kristin's wedding reception. Five years earlier, she and Joe had been newlyweds. Early on, they had never quarreled, or so it seemed to Judith. Lately, tension existed between them on an almost daily
basis. Maybe Renie was right: Marriage wasn't just about quarreling and making up; it was about deep-rooted mind-sets and individual experiences and personality conflicts that could never be resolved, only ignored in order to make life bearable.

Judith's eyes traveled to a brochure for Hillside Manor. “Full-course breakfasts, cozy atmosphere, and comfortable accommodations,” the copy read. Maybe “comfortable accommodations” were what marriage was all about. But you paid for them, Judith thought, not just at Hillside Manor, but in real life.

With an effort, Judith got up and went to the telephone on the cherrywood pedestal stand. She started to dial the number for police headquarters to report her stolen dress, but before she could enter the last digit, Joe came back into the living room.

“I'm going to five o'clock Mass,” he said, “so Woody and I can get an early start in the morning.”

Judith could never attend the Saturday evening service. She had to be at the B&B to serve her guests for their cocktail hour.

“Okay,” she said in a tired voice. “We'll eat at six-thirty.”

Joe continued through the living room, brushed past Judith, and went upstairs. Judith picked up the phone again, lost her nerve, and replaced the receiver.

 

Sunday, the ninth of July, was a long, hot day. Judith spent an hour weeding in the shade. But after her mother had interrupted to ask the whereabouts of her glasses, her solitaire deck, her jumble puzzle, her
TV Guide
, her dentures, and her Granny Goodness Chewy Caramels, Judith gave up and went into the house. She tried calling Renie, but nobody answered. Feeling bereft, she sat at her computer in the kitchen and tried to figure out what had really happened at the Belmont Hotel.

No fresh inspiration struck. She was thinking about
making a big gin and tonic when the phone rang.

It was Mike. “Hey, Mom,” he said in a cheerful voice, “we're about to leave Kristin's folks and head for Idaho. Mrs. R. wanted me to tell you that they won't be paying any of the wedding bills for awhile because of some tax problems. I don't understand it, but it has something to do with the Rundbergs owning a wheat ranch. They pay differently than other people.”

Judith snapped out of her doldrums. “We all have tax problems,” she declared in an angry tone. “We also have bills, some of which aren't ours. You tell Mrs. R. to pony up before I get turned over to a collection agency. How dare she make you a patsy? Not only is she cheap, she's chicken!”

The cheer fled from Mike's voice. “Hey, cool it, Mom. You don't understand. They're in a bind. They explained it all to Kristin and me, but it's kind of confusing.”

“No, it's not,” Judith said, trying to rein in her temper. “It's very simple. The bride's family has an obligation for certain things. The Rundbergs know that. The only reason I signed for everything was because I was here in town and they were three hundred miles away on their ranch. Now they're trying to weasel out of paying their share. It's unconscionable.”

“It's smut,” Mike said.

“What?”

“That's the other thing—some of the crop that's supposed to be harvested later this summer has smut,” Mike explained, trying to remain reasonable. “It's some disease that attacks wheat.”

“Tough,” Judith retorted. “I don't care if it's smut, mutt, or butt. If Kristin's parents don't come across in the next few days, I'm going to get an attorney to go after them. Or the bunco squad.”

“Mom!” Mike sounded horrified. “You're talking about my in-laws!”

“To me, they're outlaws.” Judith paused. “Is Merle there?”

“I'm not at the house,” Mike replied. “I'm calling from a pay phone at the gas station down the road. Hey, don't put me in the middle of this!”

“Mrs. R. already put you in the middle,” Judith growled. “Merle should do her own dirty work.” For Mike's sake, Judith tried to simmer down. “Look, tell her that your…that Joe and I don't have the money to pay these bills. Tell her we've got our own tax problems. Tell her I'm sure she can make arrangements with most of the creditors, but she'll have to contact them herself. Their phone numbers and addresses are on the invoices.”

“Gee, I don't know…” Mike's voice was skeptical. “Maybe Kristin should talk to them.”

“Good idea,” Judith replied. “She's the one who chose the dress, the flowers, the photos, and almost everything else. Just remember, this is the Rundbergs' responsibility, not the Flynns'. You needn't feel guilty.”

“I'm not,” Mike responded.

“That's fine. It's easy to feel guilty. I ought to know.”

“I'm not talking about guilt,” Mike said, his voice lower. “I meant, I'm not a Flynn.”

For a long moment, Judith said nothing.

 

Joe returned from his fishing trip in a much happier frame of mind. He and Woody had actually managed to catch a half-dozen rainbow trout between them. By contemporary local fishing standards, they had had a successful outing.

Judith decided not to deflate Joe's good mood by telling him about the phone call from Mike. Though it cost her dearly, she put on a smile, and offered to clean and cook her husband's share of the catch.

“Say,” Joe said, much later that night as he and Judith were preparing for bed, “I was kind of harsh about that
IRS notice. It sounds as if the CPA might have misled you. It's not your fault.”

“That we're going broke?” Judith's mask finally fell away.

“That won't happen,” Joe said. “We might have to pay something, but didn't you say the hearing wasn't scheduled until October? There's no point worrying about it between now and then.” Getting into bed, Joe put his arm around Judith.

“I guess not,” Judith replied dubiously. She snuggled closer. “Joe—do you love me?”

“What?” He grinned at her before turning out the light. “Of course I do. Why would you ask such a silly question?”

“I think I've been a twerp lately,” Judith said. “About a lot of things.”

“So?”

“Well, I'm sorry.”

Joe's arm squeezed Judith's middle. “Forget it. You just married off your only child. That's got to be hard.”

Judith's head popped up from the pillow. “I never thought of it like that,” she said in wonder. “I mean, it's not just the expense and the busy work and the anxiety. It's…more.”

“Much more.” Joe chuckled. “You know, Jude-girl, sometimes you get so caught up in things that you don't stop to reflect.”

Maybe
, Judith thought to herself,
that's why I get so caught up in the first place. I don't want to reflect. Reflection can be painful
.

She fell back onto the pillow and relaxed. “You're awfully sweet—usually,” Judith said in a soft voice.

“Usually.” Joe yawned. “There's a breeze coming in tonight. Maybe we'll sleep okay. G'night, Jude-girl.”

“Goodnight, Joe.” She patted his hip. He was right. The wind was ruffling the chintz curtains. The third floor family quarters, which always retained more heat than the
rest of the house, were beginning to cool down.

“Joe?”

“Mmm?”

“I have one small favor to ask. Do you mind?”

“Mmm.” Joe rolled over and yawned again. “No, what?”

“Can you dig up Harley Davidson?”

J
OE COULDN'T HONOR
Judith's request, because, as he put it, the evidence had gone up in smoke. Harley had been cremated, and his ashes had been interred at a local mausoleum. But to Judith's immense relief, her husband had not become upset when she explained her reason for wanting the corpse exhumed.

“I wasn't going to tell him,” she said to Renie Monday morning as the cousins sat at Judith's kitchen table drinking coffee. “But then I realized that if this case was ever going to be solved, that would be one way to do it.”

“So what's another way?” asked Renie who was just barely awake at ten past ten and was dribbling coffee down the front of her frayed pocket tee.

“By getting hold of Darrell Mims and shaking him until his teeth rattle,” Judith answered with a cunning expression. “I intend to do that when he goes off the air at noon. Want to join me?”

Though Renie looked puzzled, she didn't ask why Judith wanted to see the former gofer and apprentice disc jockey. “Sure, it beats cleaning my closet which is what I planned to do today. I'm all wrapped up on the homeless brochure.”

Judith had left word at KRAS that she and Renie
would like to treat Darrell Mims to lunch at Foozle's. It was twelve-thirty when the cousins arrived. On this visit, they eschewed the bar, and settled into one of the vinyl-covered booths by the grimy front window.

“Do you think he'll come?” asked Renie, who was now wide awake and had figured out the reason for questioning Darrell.

“I don't see why not,” Judith responded as she glanced at the menu. “He has no reason to suspect what we want to ask him.”

“I suppose not.” Renie grimaced at the luncheon listings. “Did I have the beef dip last time? Was it rare? Did I get ptomaine?”

“Yes. No. No. I'm going to get a hamburger. They're hard to screw up.” Judith replaced the menu and stared across the street at the entrance to the Heraldsgate 400 building. “We should have turned the radio on in the car. I wonder if he's gotten any livelier.”

“Dubious,” Renie replied, still frowning at the menu. “I wonder what the chili would do to me? Sometimes dives like this make good chili.”

“You might as well order Sterno,” Judith counseled. “Play it safe, get a burger.”

“I'm not in a burger mood,” Renie said. “What could go wrong with fish and chips?”

“The fish? The chips? I believe the term is ‘go bad,' not ‘go wrong.'” Judith snickered but kept her gaze on the 400 building.

A weary waitress wearing fuzzy blue carpet slippers shuffled over, but Judith told her they were waiting for someone. The waitress poured coffee and left, her slippers flip-flopping on the worn carpeting. The restaurant clock, with hands that were the wings of a manic duck in a top hat, indicated that it was now twelve-forty-five. Judith kept watch.

“Darrell probably has things to do after he goes off the air,” Renie said. “I know Kip always stays at the studio
for several hours, usually getting ready for the next day's show.”

“Darrell still has to eat,” Judith pointed out.

“DJs eat while the records are playing,” Renie said, leaning out of the booth to examine an armload of orders that were being delivered to the customers across the aisle. “The hot turkey sandwich looks okay.”

“You can't eat hot turkey in July,” Judith pointed out.

“Yes, I actually could,” countered Renie. “If Darrell doesn't show up pretty soon, I could eat your arm.”

Judith was beginning to fidget. “It's ten to one. Maybe Darrell didn't get the message.”

“Call him,” Renie suggested.

“I'll wait until one,” Judith said, fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers. “For all we know, he may not be doing the show this week.”

Only a few seconds passed before Judith spotted Darrell hurrying out of the 400 building. He waited for the light to change, then walked quickly across the street and into the restaurant. Judith waved at Darrell; Renie waved at the waitress.

“It's really nice of you to invite me to lunch,” Darrell said, sitting down next to Renie. “I appreciate it. Right about now, I'm not feeling very appreciated by anybody else.” His youthful face grew poignant.

Judith immediately became sympathetic. “Isn't the program going well?”

“Oh…” Darrell cocked his head to one side. “I don't know.
I
think it is, but some of our advertisers aren't happy, and we're getting lots of calls and letters and faxes saying they want somebody more…more like Harley. Can you imagine?”

The waitress had returned, sparing the cousins an answer. Judith and Darrell both ordered hamburgers, but Renie hemmed and hawed and, to her cousin's surprise, finally chose the tuna melt.

Sitting opposite Darrell, Judith rested her chin on her
hands and assumed a confidential air. “You really wanted this chance to be on the radio, didn't you, Darrell?”

“Oh boy, I sure did.” The spots of color in his boyish cheeks darkened. “It meant the world to me. That's why I feel so bad that it doesn't seem to be…working out.”

“But Ms. Highcastle hasn't fired you, has she?” Judith's smile struck Renie as a trifle soupy.

Darrell's eyes widened. “No, not yet. Oh, there's been talk about interviewing other DJs, but so far, nothing's come of it.”

“Why,” Judith asked, dropping the cloying smile, “do you think that is?”

Darrell gave a shake of his head. “I honestly don't know. I mean, maybe Ms. Highcastle wants me to have a chance to show what I can do. A week or two doesn't prove anything, really.”

“Then you're not losing money for KRAS?” Judith asked innocently.

“Not yet.” Darrell smiled a polite refusal as the waitress came by with the coffee pot. “For one thing, I don't make nearly as much money as Harley did. And advertisers buy package deals, so they wouldn't pull out until their commercials have been used up.”

“I see,” said Judith with a glance at Renie whose eyes appeared glued to the kitchen area. “Does it really matter to Ms. Highcastle how much money the radio station makes?”

“Sure!” Darrell seemed surprised by the question. “It's her living. Or part of it.”

“I just wondered,” Judith said idly, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “What I want to know most, Darrell, is why you identified the wrong man at the morgue. Why did you say it was Harley Davidson when you knew it was someone else?”

The color drained from Darrell's face and his hands began to shake. “That's not true!” he protested. “It was Harley! Didn't the medical examiner's report state it was
a blind man in his early thirties? Who else could it have been?” Darrell's voice had risen to such a shrill pitch that the customers across the aisle turned to stare.

“All that's true,” Judith said calmly. “But it wasn't Harley. It was Billy Big Horn, and you knew it. Why, Darrell? Why?”

The silence that fell over the booth was echoed by the sudden quiet throughout the restaurant. It was as if everyone in Foozle's had heard the exchange between Judith and Darrell, and now they were waiting for the dramatic denouement.

It never came. Darrell seemed to shrivel up and didn't utter a word. The waitress appeared with their orders, and it was Renie who broke the silence.

“What's this thing?” she demanded, pointing to her plate. “It looks like tuna melt. I never order tuna melt. I hate tuna melt.”

“You ordered it, honey,” the waitress said in a husky voice.

Renie turned to Judith, who was looking vexed at the interruption. “Did I order this glop?” Renie asked in an indignant tone. “Well? Did I?”

“Yes,” Judith replied irritably. “Now shut up and eat the damned thing.”

Renie let out a heavy sigh while the waitress gave her a smug look and trudged away. “Tuna melt,” muttered Renie. “I'd rather eat cork.”

Ignoring Renie, Judith regarded Darrell with a stern expression. “The police know what you did. Now you have to tell them
why
you did it.”

“I don't know what came over me,” Darrell said in a miserable voice. “Harley was missing, so it was possible that he was dead. The detectives—your husband and his partner—said they needed someone who knew Harley to make a positive ID.” Darrell gulped. “Or not. Anyway, they took me in to look at the body. I'd never seen a dead
person before. It was upsetting. I could barely keep from closing my eyes. Then, when I finally worked up my courage, the…body didn't look like Harley. But I thought that was because he was dead. I mean, it had changed him.”

“Can somebody change this tuna melt into a beef dip?” Renie interjected.

Judith shot her cousin a warning glance before speaking to Darrell. “But you must have known better.” The reproach was evident in her tone.

“Well…yes.” The young man nodded slowly. “I guess I did. But I was so upset, and then I remembered what had been going through my mind on the way to the morgue. That if Harley was dead, I might have a chance at his job. After all, Harley was missing.
Something
had happened to him. He told me that he wasn't going to be around, and it dawned on me that maybe he was saying that my big chance was coming up. So I thought,
What difference does it make?
Whoever this person is is dead anyway, and maybe Harley is, too, and if he isn't, he must not want to keep doing his show, because he hasn't even called the station. Do you see? All this went through my head in about a second.”

Watching Darrell's earnest, troubled face, Judith was moved. But she couldn't let her sympathy show. Not yet. “So you…what?”

“I told your husband and his partner it was Harley.” Darrell nodded as if confirming the statement. “That was it. I honestly didn't recognize this Billy Whatsisname you mentioned. Anyway, they took me outside and asked some general questions and then they let me go.”

Judith sat back, resting her head on the worn vinyl. “I understand why you did it, but you certainly created an impossible situation. The police have wasted a great deal of time and money on this case. You'll be very lucky if you aren't arrested for impeding justice.”

Darrell hung his head. “I know. It's just that I saw my
big chance, and opportunities in radio don't come along very often. I was driven to clean up the airways and create a more wholesome listening environment for young people. Is that so wrong?”

Judith sighed. “No. But how you went about it is.”

“I know.” Darrell stared at his hamburger which was growing cold on the plate. “You must think I'm an awful person. It's no wonder I've lost my appetite.”

Renie leaned into Darrell. “Really? Then I'll eat your burger. You can have the tuna melt.” She whisked Darrell's plate in her direction.

He paid no heed as his sad eyes searched Judith's face. “Should I turn myself in now?” Darrell asked.

“Call my husband.” Judith removed one of Joe's official cards from her handbag and passed it across the table to Darrell. “He probably gave you one of these, but in case you've misplaced it, here's a spare. Why don't you call from the pay phone by the rest rooms?”

Darrell obeyed, moving woodenly. “What will everybody say? What will Ms. Highcastle think?”

“We're wondering about that, too,” Judith murmured. Then, after Darrell was out of earshot, she added, “I wonder about a lot of things when it comes to Ms. Highcastle. But most of all,” she said, her features hardening as she watched Renie gobble up Darrell's burger, “I wonder what's really become of Harley Davidson?”

 

Woody had answered Darrell's phone call. He told the young man to stay put; they'd be out to pick him up at once. The cousins waited until Joe and Woody arrived. Darrell had become even more dejected, though his curiosity was piqued.

“How did you know I hadn't told the truth about Harley?” he asked, moving Renie's abandoned tuna melt to one side.

Judith wasn't sure she should level with Darrell, but decided she owed him an explanation. “Billy Big Horn
was a blind homeless man who frequented the courtyard of the Naples Hotel and possibly the Belmont as well. According to the authorities, he was arrested early Saturday morning for obstructing traffic into St. Fabiola's Hospital. That didn't sound like Billy, who was a very gentle person. Then, Billy's harmonica was fished out of the Naples fountain. Billy would never have left his harmonica behind, which indicated that something had happened to him. It finally dawned on me that Harley and Billy were both blind, about the same age, and had beards. One might be mistaken for the other. The truth is, I should have guessed from the start, because Joe mentioned that the tux the victim was wearing didn't fit very well. Mr. Artemis would never have allowed a garment of his to fit badly at a fashion show. Then there was the missing label from the tux and the absence of Harley's ID. Why would the killer not want Harley recognized? To gain time, was the only answer I could think of. But if it wasn't Harley, what was the point? Was it the same? I think so. But I can't be sure, because
I don't know what's happened to Harley
.”

Looking both chagrined and flabbergasted, Darrell squirmed in the booth. “You mean—you think he's dead, too?” The young man seemed to brighten at the thought.

“No,” Judith responded, with a firm shake of her head. “What I think is that…” She stopped as she saw Joe and Woody pull into a loading zone outside of Foozle's. “Never mind, I may be wrong.” Judith gave Darrell an apologetic smile.

Renie greeted her cousin's husband and his partner with a big smile. “Want a tuna melt?”

“No thanks,” said Joe. “We've eaten.” He and Woody remained standing, a pair of intimidating figures looming over Darrell Mims. “We've been wondering for a week when you'd come around to telling us the truth, Mims. Let's take a ride down to headquarters.”