Wed and Buried (5 page)

The courtyard of the Naples was one of the landmarks that hadn't changed over the years. Indeed, the circular, narrow driveway had been built not for cars but to accommodate horse-drawn carriages. Judith gingerly eased the Subaru past the Italian fountain. As the valet parking attendant opened the door for her, she noticed that his nametag identified him as “Kobe.”

“You parked our car Friday night,” Judith said with a friendly smile. “It was a very old, very well kept red MG.”

Kobe, who was young, outgoing, and a second- or third-generation Japanese-American, grinned in recollection. “That's one sweet set of wheels. You don't see too many like that any more.”

“My husband came down later to ask if you'd heard or seen anything odd,” Judith said. “He told me you hadn't, but I was wondering if since then, you might have remembered at least some small detail that was unusual.”

Kobe laughed. “I see lots of unusual stuff this time of year. First come the proms, then the weddings, next all the tourists. I've only worked here since the end of April, but every time I turn around, a limo pulls up or a bride and groom arrive or a bunch of people want me to help them spring a surprise party on their friends or relatives. It's kind of a fun job, and it helps pay my tuition.”

“Yes, it sounds very nice,” Judith said resignedly. Apparently, Joe was right—Kobe hadn't noticed anything peculiar. Judith explained that she and Renie would be lunching in the hotel, but had an errand to run first. Carefully walking downhill in their high heels, the cousins
passed the Naples, then turned towards the Belmont. To their astonishment, the old hostelry was a beehive of activity.

Workmen were piling trash into two big dumpsters, a huge truck blocked the side street and was being loaded with furnishings, and a foreman was on a bullhorn, shouting orders to his men. Near the hotel entrance, a sign was being put up. Judith and Renie moved closer, to read the black-on-white lettering:

DANGER—DEMOLITION SITE!!!
This structure will be demolished Friday, June 30.

The notice went on to quote city codes and other details of the project. Apparently, the hotel site was going to be used for an addition to St. Fabiola's Hospital, which was located on the opposite corner from the Naples. Judith took a deep breath and approached the foreman.

“When was the hotel officially closed?” she asked.

The man was wearing a nametag that said “Hector Pasqual.” His black eyes regarded Judith with vexation. “January first. The place was a fleabag.” He put the bullhorn to his mouth and shouted another order.

The cousins tried to get out of the way, but it wasn't easy with all the activity going on. Under the warm sun, clouds of dust swirled around the sidewalk. The noise was deafening, and Judith didn't blame Renie for trying to drag her away by the sleeve of her navy suit.

But Judith wasn't quite ready to leave. “This is the front of the hotel,” she said, raising her voice over the din. “See the main entrance?”

“Yeah, right, very nice,” Renie responded, choking a bit on the dust. “See the cousin? She's getting hungry.”

Judith counted the floors. There were ten in all. Certainly anyone who fell from the roof would be seriously injured and most likely killed. “There's not much of a guardrail on the roof,” Judith shouted. “See that low
wall? It's probably only about knee-high. The woman in the bride's dress went right over and…” Judith stopped. Now that some of the dust had cleared, she noticed a small balcony jutting out from the top story. It was about six feet wide, serving what looked like French doors. “Coz!” Judith cried. “Look! What if the woman landed on that balcony? She would only have fallen about eight feet. She might not have gotten more than a few bruises.”

With a tortured sigh, Renie gazed upward. “Okay, I see it. Is that the part of the roof where she went over?”

Judith tried to picture the scene from Friday night. “I think so…It was more or less the middle part, so it could have been. It all happened so fast.”

“And where did Tux Boy go after that?” Renie asked, brushing dust from her lavender designer suit.

“I don't know,” Judith admitted. “I turned around to tell Joe what had happened, and when I looked back, the roof was empty.”

“Hmmm.” Renie now seemed intrigued. “So he could have jumped onto the balcony, too, or gone back into the hotel the same way they got onto the roof.”

“Right.” Judith's excitement was still palpable. “That might explain everything. But why do such a thing?”

The foreman was now at Judith's side. “Look,” said Hector Pasqual in an impatient tone, “you're gonna have to get outta here. This is a construction zone. We can't have gawkers.”

Frowning, Judith took a couple of backward steps. Renie was already halfway to the corner. But just as Judith started to turn around, a workman came running out of the building, waving his arms and shouting.

“We got a stiff on ten! Somebody call the cops!”

Judith froze. Hector Pasqual grabbed the newcomer by the arm. “What the hell? Keep it down, Louie!”

Louie yanked off his hardhat and rubbed his curly blond hair. “I'm telling you, it's a stiff! And whoever it is has been dead for awhile. Jeez, I feel sick!”

Some of the other workmen had now begun to congregate around Hector and Louie. Their voices were lost in the tight little knot of burly, sweaty laborers. Then Hector apparently signaled for quiet as he summoned help on his cell phone.

Judith beckoned to Renie who was slowly, if reluctantly, walking back toward the Belmont. “Louie found a body,” Judith said, both fearful and excited. “What do you suppose? I'll bet it's the woman in the bridal gown.”

Renie's brown eyes widened. “You mean—you were right?”

Judith glared at Renie. “Don't tell me you thought I was nuts, too?”

“Ah…” Renie grimaced. “Not nuts, just…embroidering? I mean, sometimes you come up with some pretty big fibs, coz.”

“Only when I have to,” Judith retorted, keeping one eye on the ever-growing cluster of workmen in front of the hotel. “But I never make things up just for the sake of invention.”

Renie gave a little shrug. “Okay, I guess not.” Seeing the fire in Judith's black eyes, Renie hastily corrected herself. “I mean, of course you don't. So why are we standing here under the noonday sun? You've proved your point. Can't we eat lunch?”

“Coz!” Judith was appalled. “How can you think of
lunch
when some poor woman is lying dead in that hotel?”

“Well…” Renie was only marginally chagrined. “It's not going to bother her if I have a small steak sandwich and some fries and maybe a salad with…”

“Oh!” Judith spun around on her high heels. “You can contain yourself for a few minutes while we find out what happened to her. Just stand there and try to act like a normal, sensitive human being. It won't be long—I hear sirens.”

Sure enough, two patrol cars pulled up. One of them blocked the intersection, though there was no need, since
the big van already barred the way. Judith stared at the four police officers as they hurried by, but didn't recognize any of them. After a quick exchange of information, the patrolmen escorted Hector and Louie into the old hotel. The rest of the work force began milling around, talking animatedly, rummaging in lunch pails, drinking from Thermoses and plastic water bottles. Judith and Renie propped themselves against a low stone wall and waited.

“It's noon,” Renie announced ten minutes later. “I have a one o'clock appointment. If I don't eat right now, they'll need two ambulances. Or should I just walk over to St. Fabiola's emergency room while I still have the strength?”

As the minutes ticked away, Judith wasn't unsympathetic to Renie's predicament, but she knew from experience that it might be some time before she could find out any details of the woman's death. “I'll tell you what,” she said. “You go to the Naples and order for both of us. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

Renie didn't require coaxing. She hadn't been gone more than a minute when two of the four policemen reappeared and an ambulance pulled up at the intersection. Right behind it, Judith spotted an unmarked city car, just like the kind Joe drove when he was on duty. It shouldn't have surprised Judith to see her husband get out of the car—but it did. With his partner Woody Price at his heels, he moved swiftly through the growing crowd of onlookers. Judith shrank back against the low stone wall. She wasn't anxious to have Joe find her at the site of another disaster.

Joe and Woody went inside the Belmont. Judith shielded her eyes from the sun and felt perspiration trickle down her neck and back. It was a temptation to join Renie inside the cool confines of the Naples Hotel. But she had to stay put; she had to vindicate herself.

Ten minutes later, another city car pulled up. This time Judith did recognize at least one of the passengers, Waldo
Chinn, an experienced medical examiner. The woman with the official camera gear also looked familiar, but Judith couldn't recall her name. If further proof were necessary, it arrived a moment later when two of the patrol officers began affixing crime scene tape to the Belmont's entrance. Judith realized that the law enforcement officials were acknowledging that a murder had been committed.

The discovery might have come as a surprise to Joe and Woody, but in a tragic, perverse way, Judith felt vindicated.

 

It was going on one o'clock when Joe and Woody emerged from the hotel. By then, Judith was not only hot, but hungry. Just as she spotted her husband in the hotel entryway, Renie poked her in the arm.

“I've called a cab,” Renie announced, apparently not noticing Joe and his partner. “I figured you'd stick around until your rampant curiosity was satisfied. Give me a buzz when you get home. I should be back by four.” Renie returned to the intersection to wait for her taxi.

Judith had removed her high heels and was standing in her stocking feet. Joe was talking and nodding to Hector Pasqual. Hector seemed upset.

A gurney was being wheeled out of the Belmont. The workmen had been dispersed, and the path to the ambulance was clear. Judith grabbed her shoes and ran, heedless of the havoc she was wreaking on her good pantyhose.

“Joe!” Judith cried, no longer able to conceal her presence. “Is it her? Is she wearing a wedding dress?”

Startled, Joe stared at Judith from behind dark glasses. “What the…? Jude-girl!” He didn't sound pleased to see his wife.

Woody, however, nodded pleasantly. Joe's partner was in his mid-thirties, with brown skin the color of polished mahogany, a walrus mustache, and deep brown eyes that could convey both heart-wrenching melancholy and an
unexpected puckish humor. He said nothing, however; nor did Joe. The ambulance attendants started to roll the gurney into their emergency vehicle.

It was then that Joe held up a reluctant hand. “Just a minute, guys,” he said. “We may have a witness.” The dark glasses turned in Judith's direction. “It won't be a positive ID, but it may give us…a clue.”

Judith moved forward, edging past Dr. Chinn, Hector Pasqual, the medical personnel, and the patrolmen. “Renie and I were going to have lunch at…” she began in a small voice.

Joe didn't seem to hear her. With an impatient hand, he unzipped the body bag. Judith took a deep breath and steeled herself. She didn't know what ghastly sight to expect: If the woman in the bridal gown had fallen any distance, she might be mangled, disfigured, crushed. Judith felt her teeth clench and her knees turn to water. But she took a final step, and gazed down at the gurney.

It wasn't the woman she had seen on the Belmont's roof.

It was the man.

G
ERTRUDE REFUSED TO
eat the salmon quiche that Judith had prepared for dinner. Or, as Gertrude preferred to call the evening meal, “supper.”

“It's fish slop,” Judith's mother declared. “Feed it to your awful cat. I want ribs.”

“It's too late to fix ribs, Mother,” Judith protested. “And it's too hot to turn on the oven. I heated the quiche in the microwave.”

“You should have put the cat in the microwave,” Gertrude grumbled, eyeing her plate with disgust. Abruptly, she looked up. “Where's Mike?”

Judith gave a little start. “In Mexico, on his honeymoon. They'll be gone ten days.”

Gertrude snorted. “Very funny. Where is he? On his paper route?”

Judith gnawed on her forefinger. Had her mother really forgotten how old Mike was? Was she unable to recall the wedding from two days ago? Did she truly picture Mike as a twelve-year-old boy?

“Mother, Mike and Kristin had a lovely…”

Gertrude shoved her plate at Judith. “Give me some wienies. You can boil wienies without having the vapors, can't you? It's not hot in here. In fact, I need my
sweater.” She hunkered down in her baggy orange cardigan.

It was useless to argue. It was also depressing. Maybe Gertrude's mind really was going. Certainly her circulation wasn't very good. Judith trudged back to the house, hoping that her mother would at least eat the spinach salad that accompanied the quiche. It was almost six, and Hillside Manor's guests would expect their appetizers and punch in a few minutes. Judith felt hot, tired, and frazzled. It had been a trying day.

In the next half-hour, Judith managed to feed Gertrude and the full house of guests. Joe still hadn't arrived home from work. For once, Judith wasn't anxious to greet him. He had not been pleased to find her at the Belmont, he had insisted that she go straight home after viewing the body, and he had refused to share any information with her at the site. By the time the ambulance had pulled away and the police personnel had departed, Judith had lost her appetite. The bearded man on the gurney was no longer an ephemeral figure on the roof of the Belmont, but a lifeless corpse, drained of color, shrunken inside the debonair tuxedo, another sad statistic headed for the morgue. Feeling desolate, Judith had returned to the Naples to claim her car, tipped the parking lot attendant lavishly, and headed downtown to the Belle Epoch in search of Renie. But Renie was not available. Apparently, there had been some glitches in the printing job, and Judith's cousin was tied up making artistic adjustments. In a glum mood, Judith went home.

There, she had found the first of the wedding-related bills in the mail. The understanding between the Flynns and the Rundbergs was that Kristin's family would pay for all of the bride's traditional expenses. Nottingham Florists' invoice came to over two thousand dollars. After a big gulp, Judith copied it on her small scanner and readied it for mailing to Sig and Merle.

In the living room, Judith could hear the guests laugh
ing and talking. In the kitchen, she was nursing a gin and tonic. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and the alcohol seemed to be going to her head. Judith was humming to herself when Uncle Gurd came into the kitchen.

“What's for dinner?” he asked, plucking a dried laurel leaf from his short-sleeved combat shirt.

Judith sat up with a start. She had forgotten about Uncle Gurd. “Uh…quiche.” Fortunately, there was Gertrude's portion. “Salmon quiche and spinach salad.”

“Quiche?”
Uncle Gurd looked puzzled. “What the hell is
that?
”

Judith was annoyed. Was there no one over sixty-five who liked quiche? “It's a kind of casserole,” she said, trying not to show her pique. “It's very good. Let me fix a plate. Do you want to eat it here or in the hedge?”

“The hedge is fine. But I'd rather have ribs.”

“I don't have any ribs,” Judith lied. In truth, she had about ten pounds of them in the freezer. “How about wienies?”

Uncle Gurd's thick lower lip protruded. “Well…wienies are okay. You got sauerkraut?”

Judith did, in a can. Hurriedly, she boiled wienies and heated sauerkraut. The brief euphoria of the gin and tonic had already faded. “Are you enjoying your stay?” she asked, hoping to feign polite interest rather than the more gnawing need to know when he might be leaving.

“Yep, this is okay,” Gurd replied, leaning against the counter. “You got trees around here, and a view of the water and the mountains. It's not as bad as some city places. Now if you could only get rid of them cars that keep whizzing by. Yep, I could get used to this. Yep, I could.”

“Well now.” Judith felt a little breathless. “It rains a lot, you know. I mean, you can't spend the cooler months in the hedge.”

Gurd hitched up his pants. “We'll see about that. I'm a hardy sort.”

Her back turned, Judith rolled her eyes. “How's Vivian?” she inquired, trying another tactic.

Uncle Gurd chuckled. “She's just fine and dandy. But you know,” he continued, assuming a conspiratorial air, “she's kind of a tease. Likes to play hard to get. That's fine with me. At my age, I've got nothing but time.” He paused, his high forehead crinkling. “Or do I?”

Judith dished up wienies, sauerkraut, and a small portion of salad. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

Uncle Gurd took the plate, but disdained Judith's offer of silverware. He went out the back door just as Joe was coming in. The two men acknowledged each other in the monosyllabic manner that passed for male greetings. Judith retrieved her gin and tonic.

Like Judith, Joe was a native Pacific Northwestern who despised hot weather. Furthermore, his rubicund complexion lent itself to sunburn. He had arrived home in a bad mood.

“What's for dinner?” he demanded, making only a desultory attempt to brush Judith's cheek with his lips.

“Quiche,” Judith gulped.

Joe recoiled. “Quiche? That's ladies' luncheon food. Whatever happened to broiled salmon steaks and baked potatoes?”

Judith sucked at the ice cubes in her glass. “Well, there was leftover salmon from the reception, so I had to use it up, and quiche seemed like a good…”

Joe yanked off his holster and threw it over the back of one of the captain's chairs. “Toss the damned stuff out. We're not paying for it, the Rundbergs are. Fish doesn't keep in this weather.”

“It's only been two days…”

“You got any ribs? I could eat ribs.”

“Ohhhh…” Judith twirled around the kitchen, then slammed her hand against the counter. “I'm not cooking ribs in this weather! I refuse to turn on the oven! If you'd
told me you wanted ribs, I could have fired up the barbecue. But it's too late now.”

Husband and wife glared at each other. Both were angry and out of sorts. Neither seemed willing to give in. From the other side of the kitchen wall, the guests' laughter rose to semihysterical proportions. Fleetingly, Judith wondered if she'd put too much rum in the punch bowl.

“Let's eat out,” Judith said at last. “We can go to the pub on top of the hill.”

Joe's shoulders slumped under his summer-weight dress shirt. “Okay. I'll go change.”

Judith went into the living room, a phony smile plastered on her face. The laughter had ebbed, and it appeared that the guests were getting ready to go out on their evening rounds. Judith chatted briefly with each one, then waved them off in a variety of conveyances, from rented cars to taxi cabs. The last couple had just departed on foot when Joe came down the stairs.

“Uncle Gurd's nude,” he remarked. “Do you think Carl and Arlene will mind?”

Judith's hands flew to her head. “Yes! No. Why is he nude?”

Joe shrugged. “I guess they have a different dress code in Deep Denial, Idaho. Or no code at all. I suppose I should talk to him. I am an officer of the law, after all.”

Judith stayed inside the house while Joe conversed with their quasiguest. It turned out that Gurd had been romping through the Rankerses' sprinkler. Where else could he bathe? There wasn't a creek for miles, as far as he could tell.

“I hope you impressed on him that he mustn't prance around in the altogether on Heraldsgate Hill,” Judith said in a prim, uncompromising tone.

Joe tossed the car keys into the air and caught them with one hand. “He was wearing a shower cap.”

Judith paused with her hand on the passenger door. “What for? Uncle Gurd is bald.”

Joe's green eyes twinkled. “I didn't say he was wearing it on his head.”

“Oh.” With a weary sigh, Judith got into the car.

As the MG purred up the steep hill, she tried to unwind. But her brain was jumbled with all sorts of distracting thoughts: Mike was a married man; Gertrude was losing her mind; Joe was annoyed; the body on the gurney was a man, not a woman; the bills were starting to pour in; the weather was unseasonably warm; Uncle Gurd was running amok in the altogether.

“I feel awful,” Judith declared after they had driven around the block four times to find a parking place and waited ten minutes for a table. “I think it's the heat.”

Joe was scanning the long list of microbrews that were written in various shades of colored chalk above the bar. The Heraldsgate Pub was crowded as usual, but Judith and Joe had been lucky—their table was at the far end of the long, narrow establishment, and, thus, not quite in the center of noise and bombast.

“The heat?” Joe replied rather absently. “Maybe.” The green eyes finally made contact with Judith. “How about the corpse? You pegged the wrong one, Jude-girl.” A faint smile touched Joe's mouth as he started to reach for her hands.

Abruptly, Judith pulled back. “Hey! I pegged
somebody
! You're ticked off because I knew there was a dead person at that hotel. You thought I was hallucinating.”

Joe's grin was off-center. “You're having one of your fantasies. Nobody was pushed off a roof. The dead man didn't die from a fall. He was stabbed.”

Judith gaped. “Stabbed? With a knife?”

Joe was noncommittal. “‘With a sharp instrument' is the way we put it. No weapon was found. Dr. Chinn says he'd been dead about forty-eight hours. He'll know more after the formal autopsy.”

“Stabbed,” Judith echoed. Then the rest of what Joe had said sank in. “What do you mean? ‘Whoever he is'?”

Joe shrugged. “Just that. The guy had no ID. He looked to be about thirty, just under six feet, a hundred and forty pounds, not in the best of health, signs of poor nutrition. But you're right about one thing—he was wearing a tuxedo.”

Judith's eyes sparkled. “So he was the man I saw on the roof.”

Joe's gaze narrowed. “You didn't recognize him?”

“I didn't really see his face. I mean, he was several yards away. I doubt that I would recognize the woman, either. It all happened so fast, and there was so much distraction during the dinner. I hardly expected a crime to be committed.”

Joe signaled to their server, a young man who looked like a college student. “No crime was committed—not then,” Joe said after he had given their orders. “This guy was found in a room on the top floor. There was quite a bit of blood, but it was confined to the room itself. We asked Pasqual if anybody could get into the hotel after they stopped work on Friday afternoon. He admitted they were kind of careless about locking up, despite the fact that some homeless folks had gotten in there to spend the night. A watchman was on duty but I gathered he was fairly lax. Everything in the hotel was old and crummy, so theft wasn't a big problem. It was all going into the dumpster in the next few days anyway.”

Resting her chin on her hand, Judith was thoughtful. “Do you mean the Belmont could have been full of transients?”

But Joe shook his head. “Nothing as rampant as that. One or two or three, maybe. Or souvenir-seekers or just plain curious folks. I know, it seems half-assed, but Pasqual and his crew are in demolition, not security.”

Judith was silent until their microbrews arrived. “And nobody knows who the dead man is?”

“His pockets were empty,” Joe replied, moving his chair a bit to allow the group at the next table to leave.
“The tux's labels had been cut out. But eventually, we'll be able to trace it. It's just a matter of time.”

The beer that Joe had chosen for them was deep amber, thick and fruity. Judith sipped slowly. “Now why,” she asked, more of herself than of her husband, “would a man and a woman who were wearing wedding attire show up on the roof of the Belmont?”

To her surprise, Joe began ticking off reasons on his fingers: “They were getting married and wanted to have their wedding night at a really secluded place. They're performers from some local production. They're acting out a sexual fantasy. They're…”

Judith waved a hand in Joe's face. “Okay, okay. People do all sorts of strange things for even stranger reasons, but they do not shove one another off of tall buildings just for the fun of it. That's the part that I don't get.”

Joe didn't either. “Something went wrong,” he finally said, raising his voice above the sudden din of crashing crockery that emanated from the vicinity of the kitchen. “They quarreled. They were drunk or on drugs. They…” The noise level subsided; so did Joe's voice. “…didn't know what they were doing.”

Judith shook her head. “Whoever stabbed the man knew what he—or she—was doing. Was it a big knife?”

Joe's expression turned blank. “I didn't say it was a knife.”

“Oh, come on, Joe,” Judith said impatiently. “Your forensics experts can tell what kind of weapon was used. What did Dr. Chinn say?”

Joe sighed. “Basically, that it was a penetrating puncture wound to the chest, made by a sharp instrument about an inch wide and at least six inches long. Yes, it sounds like a knife. But it could be a spear, a sword, a scissors, or a saber.”