by Mary Daheim
“Judith dear!” Herself cried in her throaty, jarring voice. “What a surprise!” A slight pause followed. “Is Joe dead?” she asked in a more somber tone.
“No, he’s fine,” Judith replied. “We’re all fine. I have a question about the people who rented your house. Do you know anything about them?”
“The Frosches?” Herself chuckled, a sound that almost drowned out the tinkle of ice cubes in the background. “Yes, I do. Emma and I go way back.”
“Emma? I thought her name was Elma.”
“Ah . . . Emma, Elma, Erma . . . I forget. As I said, we go way back. I’m not thirty anymore, you know.”
Or sixty or seventy, Judith thought. “How did you know her?”
“I met her through my first hubby, Johnny Agra. She lived next door. Such a cute little thing. She wanted to be an actress, but then she got diabetes when she was in her early twenties. That kind of changed her career path, I guess. How is she, by the way?”
It was Judith’s turn to pause. “Well . . . she’s dead. I’m so sorry,” she added hastily. “I didn’t realize how well you knew the Frosches.”
A choking and gasping sound could be heard over the phone. “Oh! How sad! What happened?”
Judith summed up the diabetic coma and subsequent heart failure. “Then their son, Brick, got hit by a car.”
“How sad,” Herself repeated. “Poor Ellie. She had a hard life. Somehow—maybe Johnny told me—she divorced her first husband while he was in prison for . . . some kind of crime. Assault, maybe.” She hiccuped. “I must admit, I lost track of her for ages, but when she bobbed up again, I just had to help her. By renting to her and Hank.”
Judith didn’t bother correcting Herself about Herb’s first name. Before she could respond, her former nemesis rattled on. “Brick’s her stepson. She couldn’t have children. How is he? He races cars. That’s why they call him Brick. The Brick Yard, Indianapolis, and all that. Oops! I just spilled my . . . juice.”
And you’re juiced was the thought that crossed Judith’s mind. “Sorry to bother you with bad news, Vivian, but I felt you should know about your renters. Just in case their payment’s late, you’ll know why.”
“Why?” Herself sounded bewildered.
“With Mrs. Frosch dying and Brick still in the hospital, Herb might not be very organized when the rent—”
“Oh, Judith, don’t fuss over trivial things like that! You take things too hard. I must dash to clean up this mess. If you see Elna, give her my love. Hugs.” She hung up.
Joe got home around five-thirty, shortly after the new guests had checked in. Judith immediately told him about calling Herself.
“I thought she knew the Frosches somehow,” Joe said when she had finished. “I assume Vivian was sauced.”
“What else is new? She couldn’t keep Mrs. Frosch’s name straight.”
Joe shook his head. “I got those pictures of Opal Tooms,” he said, handing a manila envelope to Judith. “Good-looking woman. I can see a resemblance to Ruby. You’ll notice that one of them was taken when she was a lot younger than Ruby is now. The other is more recent, not long before she was killed. I assumed you didn’t want a morgue shot.”
“I certainly didn’t,” Judith murmured, opening the envelope. “Oh, yes,” she said, looking at the most recent picture first. “I can see the resemblance between mother and daughter. I wonder if Duke Swisher took this one. Opal looks so happy.”
“There’s a date on the back—Valentine’s Day, the year she was murdered.”
Judith turned the photo over and shook her head. “Written in red ink. How bittersweet.” She looked again at Opal’s smiling face—and then at the background. “This was taken in the racetrack’s old clubhouse. I recognize the knotty-pine paneling and those trophies.”
Joe looked over her shoulder. “You’re right. Maybe they just won a biggie. Assuming Swisher took the picture.”
Judith studied the second photo, which was a Polaroid. Opal appeared to be very young, perhaps in her teens. The setting looked like a living room with a fireplace in the background. Again, there was a resemblance to Ruby. There was also something else about Opal’s semiserious expression that struck a chord with Judith.
“What?” Joe finally said, having poured drinks for both of them.
Judith gave a start. “Huh? Oh—I’m trying to concentrate on this shot. I wonder if Opal ever hung out at The Meat & Mingle. It’s as if I’ve actually seen her somewhere.” She paused, recalling that while she and Renie had been in Little Bavaria, Ruby had said that her father spent many hours in the café’s bar. “Jimmy Tooms was a regular, but usually with his equally nefarious buddies. I don’t remember seeing a woman with him. But that doesn’t mean Opal couldn’t have been there.”
Joe was again looking over Judith’s shoulder. “You might’ve seen her somewhere else in the neighborhood. She would’ve been older if she came to the café. Dan didn’t open the place until the early 1980s, right?”
Judith nodded. “It only lasted five years before we went broke.” She turned to give Joe a wry look. “That’s a relative term, of course. We were always broke. That’s why I worked two jobs.”
Joe put his free hand on his wife’s waist. “Every time you talk about those lean years, I feel guilty. There I was, gainfully employed, living with Herself and wondering why she cared more about Jack Daniel’s than Joe Flynn. At least I could take some pride in our daughter, Caitlin.” His hand fell away. “Damn! I forgot to tell you that she e-mailed this morning to say she’d be here for Christmas.”
“Wonderful!” Judith exclaimed. “This will be the first time in ages she hasn’t spent the holiday in Florida with her mother.”
“Living and working in Switzerland all these years has soured Caitlin on trying to pretend that sand is snow and Christmas cheer isn’t found in her mother’s bottle of booze.”
“It’s been over a year since she visited us,” Judith said, putting the photos back in the envelope. “Any chance she’s found the man of her dreams yet?”
Joe shook his head. “No. The last guy she kind of liked turned out to have two or three ex-wives and a habit of using other people’s money to make his own shady investments.”
“I didn’t think the Swiss let people like that into the country,” Judith said after taking a sip of Scotch.
“He was a homegrown product who fled to Belize last month. I guess he didn’t trust Swiss banks with his ill-got gain.”
Judith glanced at the schoolhouse clock. It was almost six. “Yikes! I better put out the appetizers. Can you check the pork roast for me?”
“Sure,” Joe said. “Did you ever get hold of Ruby?”
“No,” she replied, dishing up cheese balls, prawns with two kinds of sauce, and a vegetable platter with a cucumber–sour-cream dip. Quickly filling a plate with four kinds of crackers, Judith wondered if she had time to call Ruby before the guests came downstairs to the living room. “I’ll see if I can reach her at Wolfgang’s in an hour or so. This would be the bar and restaurant’s busiest time.”
Joe regarded his wife with a serious expression. “Are you afraid to call her because you don’t think she’s gone back to Little Bavaria?”
Judith didn’t answer right away. “No. I’m afraid to call her because I’m scared that she isn’t able to go anywhere.”
Chapter 15
Shortly after seven-thirty, Tyler Dooley checked in. “You may want to fire me,” he said in a doleful voice. “I don’t have much to report. The only activity I’ve seen since I got back from band practice was the young woman coming back to the rental in the Explorer with a Falstaff’s grocery bag ten minutes ago. The midsize sedan—a Kia—is gone, so I figure it belongs to Mr. Frosch and he’s off to work at Boring.”
Judith agreed. “There’s been no obit in the paper yet for Mrs. Frosch, but some people don’t submit them because they cost money.”
“Right. One of my great-uncles died last year and my great-aunt pitched a fit over
what it cost her to list all the survivors. Or was he a second cousin once removed? I can’t always keep my family straight.”
“I understand,” Judith said drily.
“Hey—want me to check with the hospital and pretend I’m Brick or Bernard Frosch’s kid brother? I could find out his condition, maybe.”
“You can try. Do you have time? It’s Norway General.”
“Sure. I’m caught up on homework with no action in the cul-de-sac. I’d walk my dog, Barkley, but it’s raining too hard.”
“Good luck. And keep me posted.” Judith rang off.
Before putting the phone back in its cradle, she looked up the number of the local fire station. She believed Jess Sparks, but it never hurt to verify information. She was about to start dialing when Renie came through the back door.
“I just gave Aunt Gert her forty cents’ worth,” she declared, looking frazzled. “We had Mom for dinner tonight. I mean, we didn’t have Mom as the entrée—I invited her over because I’d made my chicken dish with the sour-cream-and-mushroom-soup glop, so I had enough to feed her, too.” She paused and frowned. “Feed her two what? Or feed her to whom? I don’t know.” Renie fell into a chair, running a hand through her disheveled chestnut hair. “I finished the Nordquist concept for the spring catalog. I’m tapped.”
“Yes, you are,” Judith said, sitting down across from her. “Take a deep breath.”
“Of what?” Renie sniffed. “It smells like pig in here. I mean, pork.”
“That’s what we had for dinner. Why did you give my mother forty cents? Or do you remember?”
“I’m trying to forget.” Renie paused again. “Oh—Mom realized she’d shortchanged Aunt Gert on the winner’s take at bridge club. She knew your mother would pitch a fit if she realized she was out forty cents. So Mom asked me to give Aunt Gert the money after I dropped her—my mom, I mean—off at her apartment. So I did. Drop off Mom and—”
Judith held up a hand. “Stop. I get it. And I know what you’re like after you’ve completed a project. You have to unwind, especially if you’re going to drive. Did you run over anybody?”
Renie blinked several times. “I don’t think so. There would’ve been a thump or a thud, right? Besides, there’s already been a hit-and-run around here lately.”
“True. Would you like some Drambuie?”
“Instead of Pepsi? Oh, why not?” She peered more closely at Judith. “You look like you could use a little pick-me-up, too. What’s wrong? You still can’t find Ruby?”
Judith stood up and opened the liquor cupboard. “I’m waiting to call Wolfgang’s after the dinner rush is over.”
“What dinner rush? As I recall, the restaurant’s closed on Mondays except during Oktoberfest and December.”
Placing two small aperitif glasses on the counter, Judith made a face. “You’re right. I assumed Ruby was going back today because she had to work. Unless she still has that other job at the Gray Goose Beer House or has found another one.”
Renie nodded absently. “I wonder what happened to that guy she was hanging out with when we first met her.”
Judith set the glasses on the table and sat down again. “Burt the Blogger? I didn’t ask. They struck me as ships passing in the night.”
“I’m afraid there’ve been a lot of those in Ruby’s life,” Renie said before sipping her drink. “Mmmm. Good stuff.” She licked her lips. “Some of those ships probably just plain sank.”
“I feel sorry for Ruby. Say—would you do me a favor?”
Renie’s brown eyes were suspicious. “What?”
“I was going to call the fire station here on the hill to make sure Jess Sparks really is a local firefighter.”
“With a last name like that, how could he not be?” Renie asked with a wry expression. “Think of the jokes he must hear. Bad ones, of course.”
“I didn’t consider that,” Judith murmured. “Maybe his career was foreordained. Would you mind calling? They know me and I don’t need to hear the battalion chief give me a bad time.”
“Ohhh . . . what the heck.” Renie rummaged in her purse. “I’ll call from my cell. If they saw your number, they’d probably start sliding down the pole before you could even say hello.”
“Good point.” Judith reached around to retrieve the number she’d jotted down on a Post-it note. “Here. I hope he’s not on duty tonight. Have you thought up a reason for asking?”
“Yeah. I’ll tell whoever answers I’m lusting after Sparks’s body because he’s so hot. I wonder how many times that line’s been used on the poor guy? He is kind of cute.”
Judith sipped her drink while Renie punched in the numbers on her cell. “Hi,” she said, her voice more high-pitched than usual. “Is Jess Sparks there? . . . He’s not. Darn. Maybe he’s just late. We were supposed to see a movie tonight . . .” She scowled into the phone. “What do you mean, I sound like his mother? . . . Oh . . . he never told me that. Gosh, I don’t know him as well as I . . . Hey, it’s okay. I’m sworn to secrecy . . . Maybe I should just give up on him. My husband might get jealous. Bye.” Renie clicked off the phone and tossed it back in her purse. “Smart ass. Some guys like older women. Of course, that’s because they’re even older.”
Judith was holding her head. “What on earth was that all about? And do you realize they probably noted your cell number?”
Renie grinned. “Ha ha. It’s not my cell, it’s my son-in-law Odo’s. He got the latest model and gave me his old one. I’d like to see even a firefighter tangle with Odo. Anne doesn’t call him the Viking for nothing.”
“Just answer the question, coz.”
“Obviously, Jess Sparks is a firefighter assigned to the Heraldsgate Hill station.” Renie paused, as if to let that point sink into her cousin’s head. “Not so obviously, whoever answered the phone was in a somewhat frivolous mood. I suppose they get really bored when you don’t have a corpse or a fire or some other kind of disaster here in the cul-de-sac.”
“Please,” Judith begged. “Just tell me what the frivolous firefighter said about Jess.”
Renie shoved the overlong bangs out of her eyes. “I could hear the other guys in the background laughing and making some cracks. I couldn’t tell what they said, but the one on the phone told me Jess didn’t have a mother. Then he added that he didn’t mean to say that, it wasn’t any of his business, and he should have kept his mouth shut.” She held up her hands. “That’s it.”
“That is a little weird,” Judith said after taking another sip of her drink. “Why . . . ?” She shook her head. “I don’t get it. Unless it’s a running gag at the fire station?”
Renie shrugged. “Everybody has a mother, even firefighters.”
Judith shot her a sharp look. “Get real. It sounds like maybe it’s a sore subject. I still don’t know why Jess wanted to get in touch with Ruby in the first place. He referred to his inquiry about her as a ‘sentimental idea.’ Or was it nostalgic?”
“Either way,” Renie said, “it smacks of something from the past. I assume Ruby never mentioned Jess or any firefighter?”
“No. The only connection is Hector Sparks. I figure Jess for late thirties. Probably too old to know Ruby in school. But maybe his father and her mother knew each other.”
Renie smirked. “How well did they know each other?”
Judith made a face. “Give me a break. Hector was about ninety and bedridden when Opal knew him.” She frowned. “Unless . . .”
“Yes?” Renie had assumed a quizzical expression.
“It is possible that Opal and Hector had been acquainted earlier. Maybe that’s why Lee and Marla Watkins were so upset about Hector leaving his money to Opal.” Judith got up to retrieve the manila envelope with the photos Joe had brought home. “Take a look, especially at the younger version. It bothers me. Why?”
Renie studied the Polaroid for almost a minute. “You got a magnifier handy?”
“Yes,” Judith said, opening the drawer by the bulletin board at the end of t
he counter. “Here.”
Renie took her time before speaking. “That’s a Lalique figurine and a Wedgwood plate on the fireplace mantel. Do you think those items belonged to the Tooms family?”
“Damn,” Judith breathed. “I didn’t notice them. I was too focused on Opal. You’re right. They could never have afforded items like that. Unless Jimmy Tooms stole them.”
“If he had, he would’ve pawned them, not displayed them in his living room. You have to wonder where this picture was taken.”
“It probably wasn’t at the Tooms house,” Judith said. “But look closely at Opal. What is it about her that bothers me?”
Renie scowled at the photo. “She’s young, she’s pretty, she isn’t wearing a wedding ring. When did Opal and Jimmy tie the knot?”
Judith reflected on Ruby’s account of her parents. “They were very young. According to Woody’s case notes, Opal was forty-four—or would’ve been the year that she was killed. She was pregnant when she got married, so Ozzie’s midthirties. Opal could be a teenager in that picture. Ruby told me her dad had hocked her mom’s engagement ring. Maybe he did the same with the wedding band.”
Renie ran her thumb over her own wedding ring, four rows of gold weave from Tiffany’s that had cost Bill fifty bucks some forty-odd years ago. Having had a habit of getting engaged to men she didn’t want to marry, Renie found engagement rings boring.
“I don’t think Opal would’ve let Jimmy do that,” she finally said. “There’s not much money in cheap gold bands anyway. I suspect she wasn’t married when this shot was taken. Didn’t Hector Sparks have grandchildren via Lee and Marla Watkins?”
“Yes,” Judith replied. “They were upset about Opal allegedly trying to finagle Hector out of their inheritance. Yet their names weren’t on the interview list. Maybe they were too young to be suspects or witnesses.”
