by Mary Daheim
Chapter 6
The rest of Thursday passed uneventfully. Phyliss showed up shortly after noon, full of complaints, but praising the Lord for her deliverance from the metro transit system, which she likened to the Babylonian Captivity.
Judith made a trip to Falstaff’s and Holliday’s Drug Store. Joe had an afternoon meeting with a prospective client across the lake. Ruby spent all afternoon going through the local newspaper files and taking notes. Gertrude threatened to kill Aunt Deb after they’d gone set doubled and redoubled at their Holy Childhood bridge club. Emmy O’Flapdoodle—not her real name, but that’s what Judith’s mother always called her—and Marie Goetzenheimer had to separate the Grover sisters-in-law to keep their hostess, Agatha Dunze, from calling the police. In other words, it had been a normal day at Hillside Manor.
“Gosh,” Renie said over the phone that evening, “Mom was actually mad at Aunt Gert. Usually, she just laughs her off and tells her to stop taking the game so seriously.”
“You know how Mother prefers to focus on her card games,” Judith replied. “She plays to win. And Aunt Deb does go on.”
“So what? Mom likes the social part. She doesn’t give a hoot who wins. Speaking of hoots, I ran into Arlene at the hardware store this afternoon. I hear you had some excitement this morning. Any news on the rental occupants?”
“Joe checked the 911 call and found it apparently wasn’t serious. I relayed the message to Arlene.”
“Oh? Then how come Margo Holliday told me at the drugstore that she heard it was life-threatening?”
“She did?” Judith was surprised. “I was at Holliday’s this afternoon, too. I must’ve missed you and Margo. I didn’t go back to the pharmacy section. Was Margo breaking customer confidentiality?”
“Hardly,” Renie replied. “She heard it from that woman who lives in the corner house. What’s her name? Band-Aid or something like that?”
“Bhandra,” Judith said thoughtfully. “They just moved in. The rest of us are putting together a welcome basket for them.”
Renie laughed. “With a copy of your sleuthing résumé?”
“Not funny,” Judith snapped. And hung up on her cousin.
Judith didn’t have time to go over Ruby’s notes on the cold case until after the departing guests had checked out at eleven. She and Ruby sat in the living room while Phyliss Rackley scrubbed the kitchen floor. Ruby had jotted down a copious amount of information, but none of it struck Judith as helpful.
“The most important part,” she said to Ruby, “are the names of witnesses and persons of interest.” She scanned the list:
Myrna Grissom, manager of Peebles Place
Erma Schram, aide at Peebles
Luella Crabbe, next-door neighbor
Freddy Mae Morris, friend
Frank & Dorothy Morris, parents of Freddy Mae
Darrell (Duke) Swisher, Opal Tooms’s fiancé, construction worker
Jorge Gonzales, racetrack trainer
Jimmy Tooms, Opal’s ex-husband
Hector Sparks, nursing home patient
Marla & Lee Watkins, daughter and son-in-law of Hector Sparks
Ruby and Ozzie Tooms, victim’s children
“Did your brother come home when your mother was killed?”
Ruby nodded. “Ozzie stuck around for over a week to help with Mom’s funeral. The cops asked if he knew anybody who might have it in for her. He didn’t, any more than I did, except for Mr. and Mrs. Watkins. While he was on leave, he proposed to Freddy Mae.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“Yeah.” Ruby laughed. “She accepted, but they didn’t get married for another year or so. He had to go overseas. They’re still together. I’m surprised.” Her amused expression faded. “Heck, I’m surprised anybody sticks together these days.”
“Do they have children?”
Ruby shook her head. “Turned out Freddy Mae couldn’t have kids. They thought about adopting, but being in the service, they moved a lot. I guess they figured maybe it was just as well not to have a family.”
Judith studied the names again. “I don’t see anything that jumps out at me. Duke had an alibi. Your dad was in jail. The rest . . .” She swept a hand over the tablet. “Just coworkers, neighbors, and the nursing home’s hired help. Oh—what about Hector’s daughter and her husband? What cleared them of suspicion?”
“They were both at work,” Ruby said. “Lee was a bus driver and Marla worked at a nursery—The Garden of Eden. You remember it?”
Judith wrinkled her nose. “Yes. It wasn’t much of a nursery and the florist part had a poor selection. Is it still around?”
“I don’t know. Mom always called it The Garden of Weedin’ because the plants she bought there often had weeds in them. You couldn’t tell until you got the plants out of the containers. She liked to work in the yard. Thought it was good exercise.”
“I like to garden,” Judith said. “When I have time.” She sighed. “I’m not much help. How many of these people are still around?”
“Gosh—I don’t really know. Hector Sparks is probably long gone. He was questioned, but only had good things to say about Mom.”
“Where’s The Persian Cat located?”
“The Lockjaw Tavern’s old site. Maybe you remember it.”
“Vaguely,” Judith replied. “It made The Meat & Mingle look good. So did another old dive just down the street—Spooner’s Schooners.”
“I never was inside either of those places.” Ruby frowned. “When they were still there, you could look through the windows and . . .” She pressed her fist against her lips. “You can see inside the café now, too,” she continued after a long pause. “What did I see?”
“Yesterday?” Judith prompted. “Or a long time ago?”
Ruby held her head. “I’m not sure. It was a man with kind of a hooked nose and a jutting chin.” Her hands fell away and she stared helplessly at Judith. “Why do I remember seeing him? Am I nuts?”
Judith shook her head. “No. I think you’re starting to remember things. Don’t push it. It’s a good sign. By the way, if you need to have any clothes washed, just put them in the hamper inside the armoire in the hall between Rooms One and Three.”
Ruby nodded. “Thanks. I still feel as if I’m imposing.”
Judith smiled. “I often let guests who stay a few nights do that. It’s an uphill climb and a long walk to the nearest Laundromat. Besides, you don’t need distractions. Just focus on what you remember.”
But Ruby had no more memories that night. And Judith had no insight into that list of names that rang no bells, sounded no whistles, and yet somehow set off an alarm at the back of her brain.
Where,” Joe asked the next morning while Judith was dishing up scrambled eggs for the guests, “did Ruby go so early?”
“She took breakfast out to Mother, who’ll be glad of the company.”
Joe cocked his head to one side. “She will?”
“You know Mother can be quite charming when she meets new people,” Judith said, putting a cover on the pewter chafing dish. “It’s almost as if she turns into a different person.”
“You mean somebody I might like?”
“Joe . . .” Judith heard the first of the guests entering the dining room. “Never mind. Help me with the French toast and the muffins. Oh—bring some ketchup and the syrup.”
Twenty minutes later, all of the guests had come downstairs. Joe was putting more toast on a plate. “Is Ruby still with your allegedly charming mother?”
Judith nodded. “It’s been almost an hour, but no doubt Mother is exuding the charm she so cleverly hides from us.”
“Too incredible to contemplate,” he murmured. “I thought I’d go over the case files with Ruby this afternoon. I should take another look before Woody and Sondra get here this evening.”
“Good idea. Maybe I should sit in on that.”
“Fine,” Joe said, before taking the toast out to the dining room just as Phyliss appeared from the basem
ent.
“Hallelujah!” the cleaning woman exclaimed, carrying a full laundry hamper through the back hall. “The Lord showed me where to find that new bottle of bleach. Otherwise, I’d never get those brown stains out of Mr. Flynn’s handkerchief.”
Judith turned sharply to stare at Phyliss. “What stains?”
“I told you, the white one in the wash. Coffee or tea, maybe. Hard to get out sometimes. It’s Mr. Flynn’s right? It’s got the initial F on it.”
“Joe doesn’t have any initialed handkerchiefs,” Judith said.
Phyliss set the hamper down under the open end of the kitchen counter. “Then it must be a guest’s. You want to see it? It’s not ironed yet.” She leaned down, her white sausage curls flopping every which way. “Got it. Clean as a repented sinner’s soul.”
Judith took the rumpled handkerchief from Phyliss. It was a bit frayed around the edges, but the stamped initial was still visible. “Where did you find it? I mean, was it in one of the rooms?”
Phyliss’s plain, lean face looked blank. “I’m not sure. Could be. I didn’t have time to do all the laundry yesterday, only your own stuff and your mother’s. This is mostly from the guest rooms. When I strip the beds, I don’t pay attention to what’s between the sheets. It might give me sinful thoughts.”
Joe returned from the dining room. “Heading for the barber to get my hair cut,” he said, trying to edge around Judith and Phyliss. “Anything you need on top of the hill?”
“Nothing I can think of,” Judith replied. “Is this yours?” She held out the handkerchief.
“No,” Joe said. “You know I don’t have initials on mine.” He kissed Judith’s cheek. “Got to go. Barber appointment’s at nine-thirty.”
Phyliss looked worried. “Satan’s at work here,” she declared.
“I doubt it,” Judith said, seeing Joe almost collide with Ruby at the back door. “Maybe our guest knows something about it.”
Phyliss turned to look behind her. “A man’s hankie? She doesn’t look like a man to me. Satan’s in our midst. One of those changelings, maybe.” She shuddered, the sausage curls dancing along her furrowed brow. “I’m going back to the basement.”
“What’s with her?” Ruby asked as Phyllis raced down the hall.
“I told you yesterday, she’s . . . a bit different. Very religious.” Judith presented the handkerchief. “Is this yours?”
Ruby shot Judith a puzzled look. “No. Why would it be?”
“It was in the laundry.”
Ruby looked Judith in the eye. “I’ve never seen it before.”
Judith shrugged. “A careless guest, probably.” A quick recollection of the current and previous guest lists contained no one with a first or last name beginning with F. But she carefully placed the handkerchief in a drawer. “How was Mother?”
Ruby beamed. “Awesome! She’s so full of life. You’re lucky to have her.”
“I am,” Judith admitted with a pang of guilt. Opal Tooms hadn’t reached half of Gertrude’s age.
“A little forgetful,” Ruby said, pouring herself some coffee. “She insisted she didn’t remember your old neighborhood.”
“She never saw it,” Judith said, after glancing into the dining room to make sure her guests didn’t need attention. “Dan cut me off from my family during the years we lived there.”
“Jeez, you really did have a bad time!” Ruby shook her head. “To think I feel sorry for myself. After all the sad stories I’ve heard in bars, I should know better.”
“You expect sad stories in bars,” Judith said. “I heard my share of them while I was living out on my own.”
The phone rang. Judith picked it up off the counter. It was a reservation request from an Oregon couple for the Thanksgiving weekend. Luckily, Judith had one room left. She jotted down the information, thanked the female caller, and hung up.
The rest of the morning moved along swiftly. Joe returned from the barber, his hair noticeably shorter—and, Judith realized with a pang, more of his forehead was bared. By eleven, all the departing guests had checked out. The rain had stopped, so Ruby had gone for a walk, hoping to clear her head and retrieve her memory. Phyliss was upstairs cleaning the guest rooms. After Judith had taken lunch to Gertrude, she checked e-mail for reservations and found two more requests, both for early December. By two o’clock, Ruby had returned, her memory not improved, but her spirits lifted by the views from Heraldsgate Hill.
“Time to talk about the case,” Joe announced from the kitchen doorway. “Living room, ladies.”
Ruby was just finishing lunch while Judith was contemplating how long to cook the pork loin she was serving her dinner guests. “Start without me,” she said. “I have to figure out what to do with the entrée. It might take me a few minutes.”
She had made her decision ten minutes later when Renie stomped through the back door. “I had to run errands at the bottom of the hill,” she said, flopping into a kitchen chair. “Halfway up the Counterbalance, I decided you might need some help. What can I do?”
“Nothing, really,” Judith said. “I chose a fairly easy recipe.”
“Ha! There’s no such thing.” Renie lifted the lid of the sheep-shaped cookie jar. “What’s in here? Dog biscuits?”
Judith grimaced. “I haven’t baked recently. They’re macaroons. I think.”
Renie cocked an ear in the direction of the living room. “I haven’t talked to you much lately. That design for Nordquist’s spring catalog has kept me busy. They want a theme and they can’t decide whether it should be inspired by Monet, Manet, or Mandalay. Do I hear Joe?”
“Yes,” Judith said, crushing garlic with rosemary. “Oh! Remember Ruby from Little Bavaria?”
“Ruby?” Renie’s round face looked momentarily puzzled. “Was she one of the people I got into a fight with during Oktoberfest?”
“She was the bartender and waitress we got to know whose dad was a Meat & Mingle customer.”
“Right.” Renie grinned. “I actually liked her. Why do you ask?”
“I forgot to tell you she’s a guest.”
Renie didn’t respond. She merely stared at her cousin until Judith felt compelled to speak again. “Okay, okay,” she said, putting aside the garlic-and-rosemary paste. “I didn’t mean to hold out on you. It’s a long story.” She sat down across from Renie. “I’ll keep it short.”
“No, you won’t,” Renie retorted. “I knew damned well something was going on besides Mrs. Frosch getting a gut ache. Dish.”
Judith did—for at least five minutes, with only a couple of interruptions from Renie. “So,” she said in conclusion, “the subject will come up tonight. You probably should warn Bill. He might get bored.”
“Not necessarily,” Renie responded. “He’ll have something different to discuss with Oscar. I get tired of hearing them yakking about soccer.”
“I didn’t think Bill liked soccer,” Judith said—and could have bitten her tongue for encouraging accounts of her cousin’s husband’s conversations with a stuffed animal. “I mean—”
“He doesn’t,” Renie interrupted. “But Oscar insists he played soccer in The Village. In The Jungle, actually. I think they swung on vines instead of just kicking the ball around on the ground. Snakes, you know. Kind of dangerous.”
“Stop. Please. Do you want to say hello to Ruby or do you want to go home to your own cozy insane asylum?”
“I’ll wait,” Renie said, looking wistfully at the cookie jar. “I really do want to help you. Can I peel potatoes or something? You can tell me more about the long-ago murder you’re not trying to solve.”
Judith stood up. “Okay, you do the potatoes. I think I’ve filled you in about the cold case. I just wish Ruby would start remembering what happened to her before she blacked out in the old neighborhood. Say,” she said suddenly, “being a psychologist, could Bill figure out a way for her to get her memory back?”
Renie shrugged. “I suppose he could always hit her over the head with a hammer.
”
“I’m serious,” Judith said, hauling a bag of potatoes out of a bin under the counter.
“I’ll ask him,” Renie said. “I take it you don’t want to go out to your old hood to help rekindle her memory?”
“I really don’t,” Judith admitted. “It holds too many dreary memories of my own. Though Ruby says it’s changed a lot for the better.”
“Short of becoming a nuclear waste dump, it had nowhere else to go,” Renie remarked, getting a peeler out of a drawer. “Did you say the old folks’ home was called Peebles?”
“Yes.” Judith looked up from her recipe. “Why?”
“They got taken over years ago by AEGISGOOD, a national nursing-home chain. Do you remember a brochure I did for them back then?”
“No,” Judith replied. “You do so many different projects that I can’t keep up. Did you go out there?”
Renie cast a gimlet eye at her cousin. “No. Do you think I wanted to see my future unfold before me?”
Judith laughed. “I can’t imagine you living in a nursing home. Opal Tooms wouldn’t be the only one to meet an untimely end.”
“I’d be too weak to do any damage. But I did meet some of the staff.” Renie made a face in an apparent effort at recalling names. “A woman who ran the place . . . I want to say ‘Gruesome,’ but that was only the way she looked.”
“Grissom?” Judith suggested.
“Right. Myrna Grissom. Talk about a hatchet face. She could’ve cut petrified wood with it.”
“Did she strike you as honest?”
Renie recoiled in her chair. “Strike me? Hey, I didn’t hit her first!”
“Don’t be an idiot. You know what I mean.”
“Well . . .” Renie leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Honest, as in straightforward? Yes. Honest as in integrity? Probably not. We weren’t discussing ethics. I wanted her to ooze compassion. She tried, but flunked. I recall thinking that Myrna saw her patients as dollar signs, not people.”
“Anything about her employees?”
Renie sat up straight and tapped her long fingernails on the table. “Hmm. Chattel. That’s the word that comes to mind, but it was more attitude than what she actually said. Frankly, we didn’t go into much detail about staff. I was aiming for the concept. Color, too—purple or mauve? I ended up with puce.”
