by Mary Daheim
Ruby shook her head. “I’ve seen enough crime in real life.”
Joe leaned against the fridge. “It’s how they collect samples for DNA. That’s what piqued your interest in your mother’s case, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Ruby agreed, “but I don’t know how it works. I mean, I don’t know how they find the stuff they use to figure out that somebody was the wrong perp or the real one wasn’t caught in the first place.”
“Technology moves fast these days,” Joe said, his head cocked in the direction of the entry hall. “The patrol officers aren’t equipped to do a thorough job, so they’ve called in the forensics specialists. It may take a while before you can go up to your room, but can you tell me what you left behind here?”
Ruby looked askance. “You’re lucky I can tell you my name right now.” She put her elbows on the table and cradled her head in her hands. “One travel bag with nightgown, underwear, a sweater, a couple of pairs of socks, jeans, a sweatshirt . . . oh, travel slippers. Some makeup. A toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, birth control pills . . .” She paused, apparently expecting some kind of reaction from the Flynns. There was none. Ruby continued with her recital. “Travel alarm clock, heavy-duty nail file, and Fermin the Vermin, my stuffed hamster. He’s my good-luck charm. Oh—my journal. I started keeping one after I moved to Little Bavaria. It helped me get over the ski bum who dumped me.”
Joe’s expression hadn’t change. “Okay. No camera?”
“No. I’ve got one on my cell.”
“Is that in your purse?” Joe asked.
“Yes.” Ruby looked around. “Where is my purse?”
Judith also gave the kitchen a quick check. “I don’t think you had it with you. It must be at the Rankerses’ house. I’ll call them.” She stood up to get the phone from the counter. Joe left the kitchen, presumably to check on Smith and Wesson.
Arlene answered. “Goodness,” she said in response to the question, “I don’t think Ruby had a purse with her. Or maybe Carl put it somewhere after he helped her get inside. Let me ask him. He’s still downstairs watching the tall shorts people with the peculiar names.”
Hearing a door open, Judith realized that Arlene was taking the phone with her. Soft footsteps followed, then the faint voice of a sportscaster saying, “Duncan grabs the rebound, passes off to Barry . . .” Arlene spoke to Carl, but Judith couldn’t quite make out what she said or what he responded.
Arlene was back upstairs. “Ruby didn’t have a purse,” she said. “She must’ve lost it. Carl checked the porch and the walk. No luck, I’m afraid. Was she mugged?”
“I don’t know,” Judith answered slowly, her back turned to Ruby. Drugged, she thought, might be more like it. “Thanks, Ar—”
“Exactly. Are they making a social call or . . . you know.”
“Uh—know what?”
“What I was going to ask. Are the police just in the neighborhood and happened to drop by or did you find another . . . how should I put it? Future obituary?”
“No!” Judith winced, but kept her back turned. “We may have had a prowler.”
“Oh.” Arlene sounded disappointed. “Here comes Carl. The game must be over. I’m glad. I feel embarrassed for those poor young men who have to wear frocks on TV. Maybe their names are so odd because they use aliases. I would. Or would I? I do wear a frock for the right occasion, but basketball isn’t one of them.” She rang off.
Judith finally sat back down and looked at Ruby. “You didn’t have a purse with you.”
The bald statement clearly stunned the other woman. “Damn! You mean it got snatched?”
“Maybe,” Judith allowed. “Or you dropped it somewhere.”
Ruby held her head again. “What the hell is going on?”
Judith didn’t respond. She heard the front door open and Joe speak to a woman . . . and then a man. The voices were swallowed up in the stairwell as they moved to the second floor,
“The forensics specialists,” Judith murmured. “They’ll collect the specimens. If there are any.”
“I wish they could find my money, my credit cards, my cell phone, my ID, my . . .” Ruby’s bloodshot eyes welled up with tears. “Why do I always have such rotten luck?”
Judith reached across the table to put her hand on Ruby’s arm. “Hey—don’t make yourself sick. You’re here with us. We’ll get this sorted out somehow. You need to rest. As soon as they finish in your room, I’m going to put you to bed. Unless you’re hungry. Are you?”
Ruby wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “I’m empty, but I’m not hungry.”
“I saved you some spare ribs.”
Ruby looked surprised. “You did? That was real nice of you. But maybe I’ll just have some toast.”
“Sure.” Judith got up. A glance at the old schoolhouse clock told her it was going on nine. Some of the guests would be returning soon. She grimaced, wondering how to explain the cruiser and a police department van parked by the B&B. “Maybe,” she said, after putting a slice of bread in the toaster, “you’ll remember some of what happened to you in the morning. Trauma often causes temporary amnesia.”
“Do I want to remember?” Ruby asked grimly.
“It might not be pleasant, but it is important, especially if a crime has been committed.”
Ruby looked jarred. “You mean maybe I was raped?”
“No,” Judith said quietly, “but somebody may have stolen your purse. How much money did you have in it?”
“A little over two hundred bucks,” Ruby replied. “Hey, wouldn’t somebody at that café know something? It’s the last thing I do remember.” She made a face. “Damn. I don’t recall the name . . . something about a cat, maybe.”
“That won’t be hard to find if it’s near the site of The Meat & Mingle.” She removed the toast and buttered it. “Jam? Jelly?”
“Why not?”
“Raspberry, strawberry, or blackberry?”
Ruby smiled. “Blackberry. If I didn’t feel so crappy, this would be kind of fun. Somebody’s waiting on me for a change instead of the other way around.”
Judith spread a thick layer of jelly on the toast, set it on a plate, and handed it to Ruby. “You may think of me as a sleuth or a tourist or a business owner, but basically, I’m just a glorified waitress and housekeeper. Oh—and a bartender when Dan and I owned The Meat & Mingle. But my real career used to be as a librarian. Let me check the computer for that restaurant.”
Ruby hadn’t eaten half the toast before Judith came up with a name. “The Persian Cat?”
“That’s right,” Ruby said, grinning. “The guy who seemed to be running it wore a turban. Maybe he’s Persian. Or would that be Indian? All those countries over there confuse me.”
“For all I know, he may’ve been born in the Thurlow District,” Judith said, jotting down the phone number. “That might explain his confusion about headgear. They could be closing about now. I think I’ll let Joe call the restaurant when he’s done with the police work. Assuming, of course, they’ll answer if it’s after hours. It’s best to get information as soon as possible from witnesses.”
“You sound like a cop.”
Judith shrugged. “I’ve lived with one for fifteen years.”
“That’s great. You guys seem happy.”
“We are.” She sat down. “We both had unhappy first marriages. We’d been engaged before we . . . got offtrack.” She grew silent, hearing voices in the entry hall. “The police may be leaving,” she said softly.
Judith was right. Joe came back into the kitchen. “All clear. Feeling better, Ruby?”
“A little. Your wife is great.”
Joe moved behind Judith’s chair and put his hands on her shoulders. “I know that. She comes from great stock. Just like her mother.”
“Joe . . .” Judith made a face. “Don’t listen to him. He and my mother don’t get along.” She craned her neck to give Joe a dirty look.
He squeezed Judith’s shoulders, but ignored h
er reaction. “Can you describe your journal?”
Ruby frowned. “Nothing fancy. Dark green cover, drawing of trees and mountains with the word ‘Musings.’ ”
Joe shook his head. “I’m afraid we didn’t see it. Did you have anything else in the room with personal information?”
Ruby reflected briefly. “No. But my purse is missing. My ID and credit cards and my cell are in it.”
Joe nodded. “Right.”
Judith and Ruby waited for Joe to elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, he removed his hands from his wife’s shoulders and started down the back hall. “I’m going up to my office for a few minutes.”
Ruby frowned at Judith. “What does that mean?”
“He wants to think,” Judith said. “Did you tell anybody what you planned to do while you were in the city? About your mom, I mean.”
“No. It was none of their business. I told my boss at the restaurant that I wanted to get away for a few days. I had the time coming, so it wasn’t a big deal.”
It was Judith’s turn to mull. “Did you talk to anyone in the old neighborhood? Before you got to The Persian Cat, I mean?”
“I didn’t run into anybody I knew. I planned to check out a couple of old pals, but I never got around to it. Are you going to ask Mr. Flynn to call the restaurant?”
“Maybe I should do that,” Judith said, noting that the schoolhouse clock was ticking its way toward 9:20. “I don’t know how long Joe’s going to be upstairs. And please call us by our first names. You’re not a stranger.”
Ruby’s smile lighted up her tired face. “I doubt you’ve ever met a stranger.”
Judith smiled back, though a bit ruefully. “That’s what my first husband’s mother said about me. It was grudging—and about the only nice thing she ever did say to me.”
“She must’ve been a bitch,” Ruby remarked.
“She was a very unhappy woman.” Judith got up from the chair to pick up the phone. “What does your purse look like? I forget.”
“It’s faux brown leather with a big faux gold clasp and a couple of pockets on the outside. They’re not faux, they’re real, but I hardly ever use them.”
Judith nodded and dialed the restaurant. Unfortunately, she reached a recording, giving The Persian Cat’s hours and that reservations were necessary only for dinner. She could call back during business hours to make a reservation. “I wonder . . .” she murmured, trying an old trick of redialing the number but changing the last digit by one. A deep male voice answered on the second ring.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, “but my niece lost her purse today when she was at your restaurant. Did you find it by any chance?”
“No purse,” the accented voice answered. “She must’ve lost it ’nother place. Sorry.”
“Oh, dear,” Judith said in a woeful voice, quickly offering a concise description of Ruby. “I wonder if the man who approached her took it. Did you notice him with her? He acted rather oddly.”
“Then how did she pay?” the man responded. “She must’ve lost it after she was here.”
“Maybe the man paid her bill,” Judith said.
“He steals purse and pays for her meal? That’s craziness. We’re closed. I’m busy.” He hung up.
Judith sighed. “I should’ve let Joe call. That was a washout. I’m not at the top of my game tonight.”
Ruby shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. They were busy. Maybe he wouldn’t remember the guy who talked to me. I sure don’t.”
Judith heard the front door open. Judging from the voices, it was the Porcinis from New Jersey. They headed upstairs to Room Five.
“Don’t worry about it anymore tonight,” Judith said. “You should get to bed. I’ll come up with you. The guests can let themselves in after we lock up at ten.”
“You don’t have to—” Ruby was interrupted by the doorbell. “Guess somebody forgot their key.”
“No,” Judith said. “It’s not yet ten. Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
A quick look through the peephole revealed Corinne Dooley, who lived on the other side of the fence from the Flynns’ double garage.
“Hi,” Judith said, opening the door and noticing that Corinne was holding a brown purse. “Come in. You’re all wet.”
Corinne crossed the threshold, running a hand through her disheveled graying blond locks. Never quite sure how many children the prolific Dooleys had, Judith was amazed that her neighbor’s hair hadn’t fallen out in clumps by now. But Corinne was always an amazing sea of calm amid utter chaos. Grandchildren as well as nieces and nephews added to the lively mix.
“Tyler found this in our garbage can,” Corinne said, handing over the purse. “It had one of your brochures inside. Do you think it belongs to a guest?”
“It just might,” Judith said, gingerly holding the purse. “It was in your garbage can? How did he happen to find it?”
Corinne waved a hand. “One of the other kids threw out Tyler’s trumpet. They get tired of hearing him practice. Being the baby of the family, sometimes they pick on him. He found the purse just now when he was looking for the trumpet.”
“Thanks, Corinne,” Judith said. “I’m not sure I know which one Tyler is—unless he’s our paper boy.”
“He is,” Corinne replied. “He has been, since a year ago last summer. You probably never see him. He does the route around five-thirty and starts in the cul-de-sac.” She smiled conspiratorially and lowered her voice. “I don’t suppose you have any mysteries you’d like solved. He’s taking after his older brothers when it comes to playing detective. Tyler thought he saw a cop car in your driveway earlier.”
“Ah . . . well, it had to do with the loss of this purse,” Judith said, unwilling to reveal too much. “My guest thought it might’ve been stolen. Maybe she dropped it coming from . . . the bus.”
“In our garbage can?” Corinne laughed. “What did she do, climb over the fence? We aren’t exactly on the route from the bus stop to your house unless she was out for an evening stroll.”
“It’s a long story,” Judith said. “Tell Tyler that if I ever have a mystery—even a small mystery—I’ll let him know. His brothers were always a big help in my former sleuthing days.”
Corinne’s blue eyes widened. “You quit?”
“Yes,” Judith said, ruing the lack of conviction in her voice. “I’m getting too old for that sort of thing.”
“But you’re so good at it,” Corinne asserted. “And it does make the neighborhood more interesting. Not that I enjoy murders, but the mystery part is a good topic of dinnertime conversation. At least when we can hear each other over all the noise and breaking of crockery.”
“Hard on the nerves, though,” Judith said. “The murders, I mean.”
“So’s dinnertime,” Corinne said, her hand on the doorknob. “But I go with the flow. Glad Tyler found the purse. Good night, Judith.”
Judith closed the door behind her neighbor. When she turned around, she saw Ruby leaning out of the dining room doorway.
“My purse?” she said in relief. “Wow!”
“I didn’t open it. I wondered about fingerprints, but I suspect if there are any, they’d be smudged after going through various Dooley hands.” Judith handed the purse to Ruby. “Go ahead, open it in the living room, where we can be more comfortable.”
They sat down opposite each other on the matching sofas. “Sorry there’s no fire,” Judith said. “Joe never got around to making one.”
Ruby’s gaze roamed around the long living room with its plate rail, bay window, bookshelves, comfortable furniture, and grandfather clock. Her gaze rested on the baby grand piano at the far end of the room by the French doors. “Do you play?”
“Not very well,” Judith admitted. “Somebody gave that piano to my grandparents. This was originally their home. The house was built a hundred years ago. They raised six children in it, including my father.”
“I took piano lessons,” Ruby said wistfully. “They were free if Ozz
ie and I did chores around the teacher’s house. She was a widow.”
“A nice arrangement for everyone.” Judith pointed at Ruby’s purse. “Aren’t you going to open that?”
“I’m almost afraid to. It feels lighter.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“Right.” Ruby slowly opened the purse. “My wallet’s here! But I’ll bet the . . . no, they didn’t take my money. Or my credit cards. Wow!” Excitedly, she rummaged through the rest of the contents—and finally her expression sobered. “My cell’s gone.”
Judith wasn’t surprised. “Whoever took your cell—and your journal—is looking for something. I wonder if it pertains to your mother’s murder.” Her expression turned bleak. “Let’s hope it’s not her killer.”
Chapter 5
Judging from Ruby’s obvious alarm, Judith wished she could take back her words. “Look,” she said, “I may be crazy. I don’t see how anyone could know you were on a mission. Maybe whoever took your purse and then came here is an old boyfriend. In the morning you may remember what happened. Meanwhile, let’s go upstairs so you can get some rest.”
Ruby didn’t argue. If the return of her purse had elated her, Judith’s comment deflated her. When they reached Room Two, Ruby insisted on straightening up everything before she collapsed and fell into a vegetable-like state.
“I understand,” Judith said before heading downstairs, “but if you want anything, feel free to let me know. I’ll be up until at least eleven.”
Coming into the entry hall, she almost collided with the Epsteins from L.A., who had just returned from dinner on the ship canal. They seemed most intrigued by the opening and closing of a nearby bridge to allow ships to make their passage through the city. The pair had headed upstairs when the Sutcliffes arrived, musing over why they hadn’t seen any igloos or Eskimos in fur-lined parkas. Judith left them to their confusion and went into the living room, where Joe was on the sofa reading a spy novel.
“Well?” he said, looking up.
Judith sat down next to him. “I’ll fill you in on what you missed.”
Joe listened without interruption. “Okay, that’s about what I figured. Except for the purse getting returned. That’s puzzling.”
