Motherhood Is Murder

by Carolyn Hart

  “Do you know of a problem with this particular group?” Woody inquired, looking from Renie to Judith.

  Both cousins were unaware of anything untoward. Renie, however, felt compelled to mention Wheezy’s remark about trouble with “the olive oil racket.”

  Woody looked puzzled. “Olive oil? I’ve never heard of any problems around here with olive oil being used as a front for racketeering. Did Mr. Paxson go to the East Coast often?”

  “Not that I know of,” Renie replied. “Of course months sometimes went by between my assignments for him. He could have gone anywhere.”

  “Have you determined cause of death yet?” Joe asked.

  Woody shook his head. “There’s no sign of trauma, which is puzzling. We’ll know more after the ME does an autopsy. Obviously something happened to him or the photography equipment wouldn’t be missing.”

  Joe frowned. “There was no sign of a struggle. Of course a smart robbery victim doesn’t put up a fight. Maybe he had a heart attack when the thieves showed up. Paxson wasn’t in very good shape.”

  Judith leaned forward. “Could he have been poisoned?”

  Woody’s dark eyes showed a flicker of amusement. “You’re on the case?”

  Judith was spared from answering by the arrival of their drinks. The waiter asked if Woody wanted anything. He declined.

  “I take it,” he said, “nothing odd happened while he was photographing the wedding party?”

  “Well…” Renie glanced at Judith. “There is one strange thing.” She reached into her huge handbag and took out the Polaroids. “A man we don’t know keeps showing up in some of Wheezy’s preview shots.” Renie handed Woody the picture with the stranger in the doorway. “This same guy was at Hillside Manor yesterday and he may have been on our back porch this morning.”

  Woody, who was usually careful not to show emotion, evinced a look of surprise. “None of you know who he is?”

  “How come you kept this to yourself?” Joe demanded of Judith.

  “It hardly seemed important,” Judith replied. “Besides, I’ve been busy with the guests.”

  Woody intervened. “I can see Judith’s point. I take it Mr. Paxson didn’t recognize him?”

  “That’s right,” Renie said. “He thought it might have been an odd reflection.”

  “But the so-called reflection may have shown up in person on your back porch,” Woody remarked.

  “It’s possible,” Bill said slowly. As always, he thought before he uttered an opinion. “The clothes and the hair could be the same, but I never saw his face.”

  Woody pointed to the Polaroids on the coffee table. “May I take these with me? I’d like to have them enlarged.”

  “Sure,” Renie replied. “The other ones are at our house.”

  “For now, I only need the one,” Woody replied, palming the shot of the man in the doorway. “But don’t throw any of the others away. Since Mr. Paxson’s photography bags are missing, the film he took must be missing, too. Those other shots might have told us something.”

  “You should be able to get hold of the pictures from yesterday and this morning,” Joe pointed out.

  Woody checked his notes, then looked at Renie. “I take it his studio is at his home in the Van Buren district?”

  Renie nodded, then gave Woody a quizzical look. “You found his business card? Does that mean his wallet wasn’t taken?”

  “That’s right,” Woody replied. “The perp—or perps—may have stolen some money and his credit cards. There was only about ten dollars and change in his wallet. Oddly, the wallet was still in his pants pocket.”

  Thoughtfully, Renie rested her short chin on her fist. “Wheezy didn’t use credit cards. He never carried much cash, either. He’d been mugged once on a location shoot in Miami.”

  “How’d he pay for parking?” Joe asked.

  “With a press pass,” Renie answered. “He was great at finagling freebies. Frankly, Wheezy was a tightwad.”

  Woody stood up. “I guess that does it. I’m going to headquarters now. I’ll send a couple of officers to his house. We have his keys.”

  Joe walked Woody to the main entrance. Judith sipped her Scotch and looked upset. Aunt Deb appeared shaken. Gertrude finally managed to dislodge the almond particle from her dentures. Renie felt numb.

  “That’s a boppin’!” Bill announced, using his favorite term for moving on. He’d stood up and was already striding for the door.

  Renie and Judith maneuvered their mothers out of the area. To Renie’s surprise, the Joneses’ Camry was coming out of the garage. Judith and Joe’s Subaru was right behind it.

  “They’re letting us out, but the cordon will be put back in place for the time being,” Joe informed the others. “Woody just left.”

  “Oh.” For once, Renie had nothing to say.

  At eight o’clock the next morning, Renie awoke with a heavy heart. The reason was twofold: her children were marrying and moving on; Wheezy Paxson was dead. The former was inevitable. The latter was, she felt, partially her own fault. If she’d never hired Wheezy, he might still be alive.

  “Any news?” Renie asked Bill when she finally stumbled downstairs.

  Bill, who was eating poached eggs and toast, shrugged. “You know I don’t like to answer the phone. Besides, you always turn it off at night.”

  “Oh. Right.” Renie went into the dinette where the cordless phone rested in its cradle. The click-click-click sound instead of a dial tone told her that there was a call waiting. Keying in the Joneses’ code, Renie listened as a recorded voice informed her that she had one new message, sent at three-fifteen A.M. Renie hit the key to hear the message and heard Woody Price’s voice:

  “I hope I didn’t wake you and Bill,” Woody said, “but I’m going off-duty in about an hour before Sondra comes looking for me with a lasso. I was working an extra shift last night and haven’t been home since eight o’clock yesterday morning. I wanted to let you and the Flynns know that none of the bridal party film was found at Mr. Paxson’s house. Frankly, the officers’ report is a mess. There’s a note on it that says they slipped up, or something to that effect. I’ll check into it later. I know you’re busy today, but feel free to call me after nine-thirty. Of course Sondra and I will be at the wedding. Weddings, that is.”

  Renie relayed the message to Bill, who looked puzzled but said nothing. Then she called Judith.

  “That’s really strange,” Judith said. “Why do you think Wheezy didn’t develop any of the film?”

  “He probably didn’t have time,” Renie replied. “He had that fashion shoot in the afternoon. Wheezy sometimes put things off until the last minute. Then he made that comment about a problem at home. I wish I’d tried harder to find out what it was. Have you told the guests what happened?”

  “Not yet,” Judith said. “Some of them aren’t up yet. Should I? And what are you going to do about a photographer for today?”

  “Go ahead and tell them,” Renie said after a long pause. “They’ll probably have to be interrogated by the police at some point before they leave town. As for a replacement, I’ve got a lengthy list of possibles. I’m going to start phoning them now.”

  On the fourth try, Renie got a positive response from Hal Anderson, a young photographer she’d used recently for a Microsweet project. That was the good news. The bad news was that Hal’s rates doubled on the weekends.

  It wasn’t possible to call Woody at nine-thirty. Along with her daughter and the other female members of the bridal party, Renie had a nine o’clock appointment at Chez Steve’s to have her hair done. It had been Anne’s idea, which meant her mother would be stuck with the bill. Judith had been invited, but declined. Her cleaning woman, Phyliss Rackley, didn’t come on Saturdays. Judith had a busy morning, although her daughter-in-law, Kristin, had volunteered to pitch in. Judith told Renie she was grateful. Kristin the Kompetent, as her motherin-law secretly called her, was as efficient as she was intimidating.

  At precisely ten o�
�clock, Renie signed off on the bill. “Do you know what that cost me?” she demanded of Anne after they were in the car and headed home. “With tip, it came to an even grand.”

  Anne shrugged. “You got off easy. If there’d been more time, we could have gotten manicures, pedicures, and waxing. I still wish we’d been able to have our makeup done professionally. I know I’ll look ugly.”

  “You couldn’t do that if you tried,” Renie retorted. It wasn’t just a proud mother speaking. She had always been amazed that all three of the Jones offspring had turned out to be extremely good-looking. “Look at me,” Renie said as they waited at the four-way stop by Moonbeam’s and Holliday’s Pharmacy. “This is the same hairdo I had when your father and I were married thirty-plus years ago. Did I ask for a retro bouffant?”

  “You look fine,” Anne replied without much interest. “Oh, God, I hope our wedding outfits will be safe at Good Cheer Hospital. Are you sure it was smart to send them to the chapel ahead of time?”

  “Stop fussing,” Renie admonished. To save a detour from the Bogawallish Reservation, Bill had borrowed Tom’s car to deliver the bridal gowns and tuxedos to the hospital chapel.

  As they proceeded down the north side of Heraldsgate Hill, Anne was quiet for a few moments. When she spoke, there was still worry in her voice. “I wish you weren’t wearing the same outfit for the whole day. Let’s be candid. You’re inclined to spill stuff all over yourself. Shouldn’t you at least have a back-up dress?”

  The request wasn’t totally unreasonable. Renie, who loved to eat, occasionally decorated her person with food debris.

  “I could, I suppose,” Renie allowed as they turned onto their own steep street. “You mentioned navy. I have that sleeveless summer dress I bought from the Neiman-Marcus catalogue last year.”

  “Hmm.” Anne was still considering the idea when they pulled up in front of the Joneses’ Dutch Colonial. “That might work. But you should start with that and save the silver Celine number for later in the day. The navy’s less formal. All the men are wearing suits for Tom’s ceremony.”

  “But I bought the Celine especially for the weddings,” Renie protested. “It was on sale at Saks when Pop and I were in San Francisco last month.”

  Mother and daughter got out of the car. “No.” Anne shook her head, then touched her hair to make sure she hadn’t done any damage to the elaborate coiffure of golden curls. “The Celine is all wrong for a noon wedding. You’ve got to go navy.”

  “Why don’t I join the Navy?” Renie snapped. “Right this minute. I’ll look up the recruiting address in the phone book.”

  “Mom…” Anne’s voice was a whine.

  Renie stomped into the house. Tom stood in the hallway, the phone to his ear. He barely acknowledged his mother’s and sister’s arrival.

  “It has to be the Packard,” Renie overheard her eldest son saying. “If I’d wanted a Cadillac, I’d have said so…what?…yeah, yeah, I know there’s another Jones renting from you today, that’s my brother…no, he wanted a Rolls Silver Cloud…no, you’ve got it mixed up…what Bentley?” Tom listened for a moment, then held the phone away from his ear and yelled up the staircase to his sister. “Hey! Did Odo hire a Bentley for today?”

  “Ask Odo,” Anne shouted from the upstairs hall and slammed her bedroom door.

  Renie had retreated to the kitchen. She had time for a quick cup of coffee before putting on her makeup and getting dressed. But she could still hear Tom on the phone.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, “call me back.” He clicked off the phone and came into the kitchen. “What a screw-up! What’s so complicated about three weddings in one family?”

  Renie stared at him over the rim of her coffee mug. “Where’s your father?”

  “He’s not back yet.” Tom put the phone down on the kitchen counter. “Some jackass kept trying to call on the second line while I was talking to the limo service. You’d better see who it is on the caller ID.” His long strides took him out of the kitchen.

  With a sigh, Renie checked the little window on the receiver. It read “W. W. Price” along with Woody’s home phone number across the lake. Calling down a half-hearted curse on her son, she clicked the phone on.

  There was no message. Hurriedly, she dialed Woody’s number. “Merry Mervin’s Marionettes,” answered a cheery voice.

  Renie apologized and dialed again. Sondra Price answered.

  “It’ll be wonderful to see all of you again today,” she declared. “Of course I’m so sorry about your photographer. I should have told Woody to suggest my cousin, Phil, to take the homicide victim’s place. Phil’s best at photographing animals, but I’m sure he could have done a good job with your family.”

  Renie knew that Sondra didn’t intend the offer as an insult. Woody’s wife didn’t always say exactly what she meant. But Phil and his wildlife expertise weren’t uppermost in Renie’s mind.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Ah…is that why you called?”

  Sondra laughed, a musical sound. “No. In fact, Woody called. Hang on, he’s right here.”

  “I’m keeping tabs on what’s going on at headquarters,” Woody explained. “Did Mr. Paxson have a heart condition?”

  Renie tried to remember. “If he did, I don’t think he ever mentioned it. He did have asthma. Why do you ask?”

  “A certain heart medication was found in his system,” Woody replied. “It could have been enough to kill him.”

  Renie clutched at her breast. “What kind of heart medicine?”

  “Persantine,” Woody answered, and then spelled out the word. “It’s a blood vessel enlarger, usually prescribed for angina patients.”

  “Oh, dear!”

  “What?”

  Renie swallowed hard. “Well—it’s probably nothing. But one of the members of the wedding party takes Persantine.”

  “Who?”

  “Father Jim,” Renie replied reluctantly. “He’s Cathleen Forte’s uncle. Judith and I were with him when he took one yesterday.”

  There was a brief pause at the other end of the line. “Don’t get upset,” Woody soothed. “That doesn’t mean he poisoned Mr. Paxson.”

  “Have you checked Wheezy’s medicine cabinet? Or tried to track down his doctor?” Renie inquired.

  “I haven’t personally,” Woody said. “I was really tired when I got home, so I slept for about five and a half hours. But the officers who went to Mr. Paxson’s house found several medications, both prescription and over-the-counter. There wasn’t any heart medicine, though. Most of it was for stomach problems, breathing difficulties, and allergies, and there were some painkillers. His primary physician is a doctor at Norway General named Halvor Borg. It’s Saturday, Dr. Borg is off on his yacht and won’t return until Sunday night.”

  “What about the slip-up by the officers?” Renie queried. “Did it have something to do with Wheezy’s film?”

  “I’m still not sure,” Woody said. “The on-duty officer who made the notation is off for the rest of the weekend.”

  “Like Dr. Borg.” Renie looked up as Tony strolled into the kitchen, looking handsome in his dark blue suit, white shirt, and silver tie. “It sounds frustrating,” Renie said, giving her son a thumbs-up sign. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to run. If you find out anything else, tell us at the wedding. Or weddings.”

  Woody promised he would.

  Tony, who tended to be more like his father than his mother, studied his wrists for a long moment. “Why French cuffs?” he asked.

  “How should I know?” Renie retorted. “They look more elegant, I suppose.”

  “They’re more trouble,” Tony replied, still holding out his arms. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “I know, it was Tom’s, it’s his wedding.” Renie patted her son before scooting out of the kitchen and hurrying upstairs.

  She had finished applying her makeup when Bill returned from Good Cheer Hospital. They passed each other in the upstairs hallway.

  “Everything okay?” Renie as
ked.

  “Yes.”

  Bill went into the bathroom. Renie went into the bedroom. She’d made her decision. She’d wear the navy dress for the first two weddings. Anne was right. The silver Celine was too formal for midday nuptials.

  At ten forty-five, the family headed south and then east to the Bogawallish Reservation. Anne sat in the Camry’s backseat with her grandmother. Oscar, who looked quite natty in his tux, rode in front with Bill and Renie. Tony and Tom, who would serve as each other’s best man, were in the second car. The rest of the bridal party was coming from Hillside Manor except for Heather and Cathleen, who had gone straight from the hair salon.

  Renie couldn’t bring up the subject of Wheezy’s possible murder. Instead, she tugged at her navy wrap dress, which kept creeping up over her knees, and tried to carry on a conversation with her mother in the backseat. By the time they arrived at the reservation, Renie’s nerves were already fraying around the edges.

  Teresa Forte was the first to greet the Jones party. She exchanged air kisses with Renie before declaring that this was the happiest day of her life.

  “And tomorrow,” she went on, “as long as we’re in town, Martin is taking me on a water tour of the city. He’s chartered a beautiful boat for the occasion. It is Mother’s Day, you know.”

  “Brfle,” Renie muttered.

  Velma Mann, wearing yet another florid floral, nodded vigorously. “Bert’s got us dinner reservations at Capri’s, that fancy restaurant where we all met for the first time. They aren’t usually open on Sundays, I guess, but they have a Mother’s Day special.”

  “Mrph,” Renie uttered.

  Bill was talking to Ron Twobucks. Renie assumed Marilyn was with her daughter, the first of the day’s brides. Deb was already involved in a conversation with several people, some of whom Renie didn’t recognize. Judith and her gang hadn’t yet shown up. Feeling cast adrift, she wandered off toward the open area where the ceremony would be performed.

  A vine-covered arch indicated the exact spot. Wooden benches sat in a semicircle. Vine maples, tall firs, even taller cedar trees surrounded the site. There were ferns and trilliums and wild rhododendrons. It was a beautiful setting, but it wasn’t a church. The tribal holy man would officiate. Tom had promised that he and Heather would have their marriage blessed by a priest later. Renie wasn’t going to hold her breath. If they wanted a blessing, why not Father Jim’s?