This Old Souse

by Mary Daheim

  In detail, Judith explained about the impromptu visit to the Blands’ house and her chat with Alan. Then, with equal precision, she related Alan’s conversation with his aunt.

  Renie, who had listened without interruption, frowned and stared down into the big backyard. Atop the garage, which faced the street in back of the house, stood Squeldon—or one of his cohorts. Renie glared at the squirrel; the squirrel glared back.

  “Beat it!” Renie yelled.

  But Squeldon—or his henchman—skittered to the near end of the garage and jumped into a mountain ash tree. “Now what?” Renie muttered as the squirrel climbed down the tree and disappeared behind the tall rockery that separated the upper garden from the lower section. “What were you saying? Oh! That darkness—it does seem very strange. I mean, even if you’ve got weak eyes—and I do—you’d think that as you got older you’d need some natural light to help you move around.”

  “Blind people get used to their surroundings,” Judith pointed out. “After all, the Blands have lived there for over fifty years.”

  “Fresh air’s another matter, though,” Renie noted. “Did the place feel stuffy?”

  “Very,” Judith replied. “As if it hadn’t been aired out in fifty years.”

  “Hunh.” Renie became pensive again. “Go over that one part again—about the elder Blands being feeble.”

  Judith repeated what she’d already told her cousin. “Except for Jane Bland and Aunt Sally’s eye conditions, Alan didn’t mention any other specific physical problems.”

  “Inertia,” Renie said. “Lack of exercise and fresh air. Can you imagine how you’d atrophy in such a house?”

  “Except that it’s very big and they must have plenty of stairs,” Judith pointed out.

  “But that’s about it,” Renie said. “They obviously aren’t gardeners.” She sighed. “Talk about dysfunctional families—the senior Blands don’t seem to function at all. Luckily, it seems that their two children haven’t inherited their parents’ reclusive traits.”

  “That’s true,” Judith allowed, waving off an inquisitive bee. “But remember, Luke was adopted.”

  “Yes,” Renie agreed. “I’d forgotten.” She turned abruptly in her lounge chair to face Judith. “Alan is Luke’s son. Why would he worry about having the same eye problems as his grandmother and his aunt? They’re not related by blood.”

  Judith stared at Renie. “He wouldn’t. But the only time I saw Luke Bland was in that café, and he was wearing sunglasses.”

  “Lots of people do that,” Renie said, “especially around here, or if they think they look cool.”

  “Luke was reading,” Judith responded. “First the menu, then something from a big binder. He kept the sunglasses on the whole time.”

  “They might be prescription sunglasses,” Renie pointed out.

  “Damn!” Judith breathed. “Adoption papers are sealed. How do we find out? And why would someone lie about adopting a child?”

  “Because the child belonged to someone near and dear?” Renie suggested.

  “Like Aunt Sally?” Judith scowled. “Sally’s a widow. Not that we can’t rule out an illegitimate baby. Maybe she had an affair.”

  “Maybe this has nothing to do with Frank Purvis’s murder,” Renie pointed out. “But often there’s a mystery within a mystery.”

  Squeldon, accompanied by two accomplices, was on the stone stairs that led to the lower part of the garden. They had surrounded a wooden planter next to the steps and were attempting to tip it over.

  “You vile wretches!” Renie shrieked, jumping up from her chair and running from the back porch toward the stone stairs just as the planter was upended. The villains fled, furry tails a-flying.

  “They’re smirking, I swear it!” Renie called up to Judith. “That’s the fourth time they’ve done that this week!” She stooped down, using her bare hands to scoop the plants and the soil. “They’ve just about ruined this planter. Dad made it for us when Bill and I moved into this house years ago. I’m taking it into the basement.”

  Renie disappeared under the deck, where the basement door was located. Two minutes later, she reappeared, brushing her hands off on her jeans.

  “Land mines,” she muttered as she returned to the deck. “That’s what we need. They know about traps and such. They can even deactivate them and remove the nuts. They probably think it’s just a game on my part.” With a sigh, she sat down again. “Have you heard from Morris and Trash?”

  Judith shook her head. “For being their original suspect, they’ve kept me at arm’s length. It makes me wonder if they have a line on who really did it. There’s been nothing in the paper, not even an obit for Purvis.”

  “I know,” Renie said. “I’ve been searching the papers, too, and even—gag—watching the local TV news.”

  “I’ve caught the late news on KINE,” Judith said. “I often do, especially when Joe’s home. I figure he’s got a thing for Mavis. By the way, I tried to find out what kind of special assignment Alan—or Adam Blake, if you prefer—had been given, but he couldn’t talk about it.”

  “Sounds like city politics,” Renie said. “Somebody’s got a hand in the till, I’ll bet.”

  Judith glanced at her watch. “Good grief! It’s after one! Mother must be starving. I’d better get home.”

  “Doesn’t she have about a six-month supply of microwave foods in the toolshed?” Renie asked. “Why do you have to knock yourself out to wait on her hand and foot?”

  Rising from her chair, Judith shot her cousin a challenging look. “How many times have you talked to your mother today?”

  “Uh…” Renie also stood up. “Twice. I’ll drop by her apartment for a bit after Bill gets home with the car.” Grinning, she put a hand on Judith’s arm. “They spoiled us, we spoil them. I guess it’s only fair.”

  “There’s fair,” Judith murmured as they entered the kitchen, “and there’s unfair. I still can’t understand how Anna French could be so uncooperative after what I did for her last night.”

  “You know perfectly well that life is not fair, and neither are people,” Renie declared, walking Judith to the front door.

  “It’s not just that,” Judith said, “it’s that she told Alan to say hello to me. I’m getting a mixed message there. I wonder what else she had to say to her nephew.”

  Renie shrugged. “You’ll probably never know.”

  Reaching the porch, Judith eyed her cousin closely. “If I have anything to do about it, I will.”

  Uncle Corky and Aunt Theodora lived on an island across the bay. The surroundings were rural; their A-frame house was set among tall firs and other varieties of evergreens. They rarely took the ferry into the city, but far from being reclusive like the Blands, they remained active in community affairs and frequently traveled abroad. Uncle Corky particularly enjoyed going to Europe and visiting the sites where he’d served during World War II. He was smart, outspoken, and profane. In fact, he was not unlike his hero, General Patton.

  On a whim, Judith decided to call her uncle. After a greeting of hearty expletives, Uncle Corky asked why Judith was calling.

  “We don’t usually hear from you unless it’s the annual invitation for Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving,” he said in his rich baritone. “What’s up? Don’t tell me my freaking sister-in-law bought the Big One?”

  “No, Mother’s fine,” Judith answered. Briefly, she considered telling her uncle about Mike and Kristin’s estrangement. But for now, the less said, the better, Judith decided. “I’m doing a little research. I know you were in Innsbruck at the end of the war. Have you ever heard of a town in Austria named Kopfstein?”

  “Kopfstein.” Uncle Corky was obviously turning the word over in his agile mind. “Yes, as I recall, it’s closer to Salzburg than it is to Innsbruck. In fact, it’s right on the German border in the Bavarian Alps, near Berchtesgaden.”

  “That’s interesting,” Judith said. “I mean, being so close to Hitler’s mountain retreat.”r />
  “Beautiful country,” Corky noted. “Too freaking good for that crazy bastard.”

  “So Kopfstein is just a dot on the map,” Judith said. “That is, there’s nothing unusual about it?”

  “Not that I know of,” Uncle Corky replied. “Along with the freaking French, we overran that whole part of Austria, accepting the surrender of the German freaking soldiers. Then it was balls-up with a lot of our soldiers. They really cut loose. Who the hell could blame those poor SOBs after all they’d gone through? To the victor go the spoils, as they say. They raided the Nazi big shots’ liquor cabinets and wine cellars, they snatched up a bunch of souvenirs, they traded loot with each other, and took everything with a swastika on it. One big item was the Hitler freaking Youth daggers. I wouldn’t have used one of those freaking things to cut up a seagull. But besides the souvenirs, our men got to sleep indoors, take showers, wear clean uniforms. And when it came to women, well, there were plenty of lonely broads in Europe after the war. Our guys were more than happy to console them.”

  “They had free time on their hands,” Judith remarked. “That must have been a terrific adjustment.”

  “You bet your butt it was,” Corky retorted. “I had an office on the third floor of a seventeenth-century building in Innsbruck. The town had been shot up pretty goddamned well, but that Baroque beauty survived. Anyway, I’d sit on my dead ass and watch the GIs down in the street. Sometimes it seemed as if they were wandering around in a freaking daze, not quite sure how to act without some crazy Kraut bastard shooting from a roof or a window or a doorway. Fear’s hard to shake. We didn’t just liberate Europe, we liberated ourselves. Sudden freedom is heady freaking stuff. It’s no wonder some of our guys got out of control.”

  “Those of us who’ve never been through it really can’t understand,” Judith said, then paused before continuing. “I’ve got a silly question for you, Uncle Corky. Does the name Dick Bland mean anything to you?”

  “In connection with the war? Not offhand,” Corky replied. “Who is the bastard?”

  “Someone I know who served under Patton, maybe in the same places you did,” Judith replied.

  “He could have,” Corky said. “But he wasn’t in my company. Hey—I’ve got a perfect freaking shot at a seagull. The SOB’s about to crap on Tank. Keep your pecker up, as my mom used to say.”

  Hanging up the phone, Judith smiled. Grandma Grover had been a true lady, but her favorite words of encouragement to her children and grandchildren had been given without regard to gender—or delicacy. It was her only vulgarity, but the phrase had served Judith well.

  As she prepared various cheeses and a crab dip for the guests’ appetizers, Judith considered how she could approach Lynette and Luke Bland. But what was the point? Nobody in the family seemed willing to surrender any kind of useful information. Still, Judith reasoned as she melted cream cheese for the crab dip, casual conversation often elicited revealing tidbits that the speaker unwittingly let slip.

  She was bringing the hors d’oeuvres tray into the living room when the phone rang. Juggling the tray, Judith swore under her breath. Luckily, none of the guests had come downstairs yet for the social hour. Before she could safely set the tray down on the oak buffet, the call switched over to Voice Messaging. Judith fetched the chafing dish with the crab dip before dialing her mailbox’s number.

  “This is Lynette Bland,” said the brisk recorded voice. “I wanted to thank you for the lovely bouquet you brought to my office. I’m sorry I missed you. You don’t need to call me back.”

  Judith, however, immediately dialed the Blands’ home number, which had shown up on her Caller ID. Lynette answered on the second ring.

  “Really,” she said, “you didn’t have to return my call. This is probably a busy time for you.”

  “I have everything under control,” Judith assured Lynette. “I’m so glad you liked the flowers. I bought some glads for myself today. In fact, I got them at the grocery store in Langford and ended up delivering your in-laws’ weekly order.”

  “I heard about that,” Lynette replied in an ironic tone. “You certainly cover all the bases.”

  Judith sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. “Do you blame me? If you’d found a dead man in the trunk of your car, wouldn’t you want to know why?”

  “Maybe.” Lynette sounded unsure.

  “I can’t help it,” Judith confessed. “It’s my nature. That’s how I got to be…FATSO.”

  “I suppose it is,” Lynette said without enthusiasm. “Frankly, I’ve always felt that the less you know about certain things, the better.”

  “Sometimes that’s true,” Judith agreed. “Ignorance can protect you. It can save you from worry and heartbreak. Yes, I see what you mean. We’ve all had the opportunity to seek Truth, but couldn’t face it because it was too painful. Don’t you wonder, though, if not knowing eats away at your insides?”

  “Well…” Lynette paused. “Perhaps.”

  “Or what’s worse,” Judith went on, forcing herself to sound long-suffering, “it can build barriers between people who should be close. You might think you’re protecting someone else, for instance, when, in fact, you’re only creating mistrust. Goodness, I ought to know,” she continued, now speaking from the heart as she recalled the years she’d let Mike believe that Dan McMonigle was his biological father. “I’ve been through that with my own son. Can you imagine what anguish it caused?”

  “Really?” The indifference had seeped out of Lynette’s voice. “Did he resent you for it?”

  “Not in the long run,” Judith admitted. “He’d sort of figured it out on his own after he became an adult. But he was almost thirty by that time. In retrospect, it was more painful for me than it was for him.”

  “Did it cause a rift between you?” Lynette asked.

  Judith winced. “Yes,” she lied, her mind’s eye recalling the chilly scene between Luke and Lynette at the café. “He knew I was keeping something from him, something I was too ashamed to tell him. We grew apart for many years.” Not a complete lie; Mike had been posted to Montana as a forest ranger. “I can’t tell you how difficult it was to let my wretched secret come between us.”

  “Yes. I mean,” Lynette amended, “I can see how that might happen.”

  “Before I forget,” Judith hurriedly put in when Lynette didn’t seem inclined to speak further, “your own son seems like such a nice young man. I’ve seen him on TV, of course, but he made an even better impression on me when I met him at your in-laws’ house this afternoon. You must be very proud of him.”

  “I am,” Lynette asserted. “Luke and I both are.”

  “I was trying to figure out who he resembles,” Judith said as she heard bouncing footsteps and giggles from the front staircase. The sorority sisters had descended for the social hour. “He has your blond hair, of course, but his facial features resemble your husband.”

  “He looks a little like both of us,” Lynette said, “but he mostly takes after my father.”

  No help there, Judith thought. Lynette’s family didn’t seem to play any part in the little drama going on at the house on Moonfleet.

  “I’m afraid I have to go,” Judith said with reluctance. “My guests are gathering in the living room.”

  Lynette thanked her again for the flowers and hung up. All Judith could hope was that her surmise was right: Luke Bland was keeping a big secret from his wife. Maybe Judith’s discourse on the agony of withholding information would spur Lynette to discover the truth. More likely, she’d often tried and always failed. But Frank Purvis’s murder may have brought matters to a head. Judith could but hope.

  “Good evening,” she said to the young women. “There’s wine and other beverages in the dining room.” Hillside Manor’s bar was a converted washstand that had once stood in an upstairs bathroom. “That dip is crab. Just a warning in case anyone has allergies.”

  The foursome giggled some more and headed straight for the dining room. Mrs. Greenwalt and a middl
e-aged couple from Dallas named Durning came down the stairs and entered the living room. Mrs. Greenwalt zeroed in on Judith.

  “The cat, I trust, is dead,” she said, her plump face a mask of disgust.

  “The cat’s gone,” Judith replied, looking forsaken.

  “How is Mr. Greenwalt? Are you going back to the hospital tonight?”

  “Yes, for an hour or so.” Mrs. Greenwalt sighed heavily. “I spent much of the day there. Fortunately, my husband is recovering. We’ll be able to leave for home tomorrow. You’ll receive the airline and hotel bills directly.”

  “Airline and hotels?” Judith gulped.

  Mrs. Greenwalt nodded stiffly. “Of course. Our original plans were to travel for another week. Now we’ve had to cancel everything because of your homicidal pet. It’s only fair that you should pay for our return fare. Obviously, we couldn’t get a decent rate on such short notice. There’s no direct flight from here to Nashville, which means we’ll have a layover in Chicago and another in St. Louis. Obviously, George can’t wait around in airports. We’ll have to spend two nights in hotels. It will take us three days to get to Nashville.”

  Judith was speechless. The Durnings, meanwhile, were plundering the appetizers while the sorority sisters guzzled wine in the dining room. Before Judith could think of something to say, the doorbell rang.

  Mike and the boys stood on the front porch. All three of them were carrying bags and boxes from KFC. “Hi, Mom,” Mike said with a big grin. “I hope you haven’t started dinner. We brought it with us. Is Dad home yet?”

  “Uh…no,” Judith responded. “He’s stuck in Omaha for a couple more days. I forgot to tell you.”

  Mac and Joe-Joe made a beeline for the kitchen, scattering the sorority sisters, who proclaimed the little boys’ adorability in high-pitched admiration.

  “Chicken! Let’s eat now!” Mac cried. “I’m hungry!”

  “Cluck-cluck!” Joe-Joe exclaimed. “Cock-a-doodledoo!”

  “Go ahead,” Judith said to Mike. “But get Granny out of the toolshed. She loves fried chicken. And she’ll love seeing all of you.”