This Old Souse

by Mary Daheim

  Rather than exacerbate the situation, Judith ordered the taxi from the downstairs phone. She felt like telling the dispatcher to send the company’s most reckless driver, especially one who didn’t speak English.

  The last straw came when Mrs. Greenwalt asked Judith to carry her luggage downstairs. Lucy and George had two large suitcases, two carry-on bags, and a garment bag. There were also two shopping bags from local stores where the Greenwalts had made purchases.

  “I simply can’t pick up anything that weighs over ten pounds,” Judith stated. “I have an artificial hip.”

  “As in ‘phony’?” Mrs. Greenwalt snapped. “This whole place is phony, if you ask me. Well? If you can’t, who will?”

  “Ask the taxi driver,” Judith shot back. “I’ll take those shopping bags and I’m sure you can manage the carry-ons. The driver can get the suitcases and the garment bag.”

  “What about my purse?” Mrs. Greenwalt demanded, wielding a huge handbag decorated with sequined roses.

  “Isn’t that a shoulder bag?” Judith asked wearily.

  “I don’t like to carry it over my shoulder. That makes it too easy for purse snatchers.”

  “Inside the house?”

  “You never know,” Mrs. Greenwalt snapped. “Especially this house.”

  The doorbell rang. Judith hurried out of the guest room and down the hall to the stairs, taking the shopping bags with her. Opening the door, she faced the taxi driver, a huskily built platinum blonde with long dangling earrings.

  “Hiya, hon,” the woman said, chewing gum. “Are you Greenwalt?”

  “No,” Judith replied. “She’ll be right down. Would you mind helping with her luggage?”

  “Is this an airport run?” the driver inquired with an eager expression.

  “I don’t think so,” Judith replied as Lucy Greenwalt came huffing down the stairs with the two smaller bags and her big purse.

  Disappointment crossed the driver’s florid face. “Rats. Oh, well.” She shrugged. An airport trip cost at least thirty dollars. “Is the stuff upstairs?”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Greenwalt. “Room Five. And be very careful with the garment bag. I have some extremely fragile items in it.”

  “Gotcha,” the driver said, and took the stairs two at a time.

  Mrs. Greenwalt turned to Judith. “I’m not paying our bill. You owe us, as I’m sure you’re aware. Goodbye.” She flounced out of the house, all three bags swinging this way and that.

  Bag is right, Judith thought, watching her guest place her belongings into the taxi’s backseat. Mrs. Greenwalt, however, waited at the curb.

  “Piece of work, huh?” the driver said, coming down the stairs and easily managing the suitcases and the garment bag.

  “Just awful,” Judith replied, moving onto the porch.

  “From around here?” the driver inquired.

  “No,” Judith said softly. “An out-of-towner.”

  The driver chortled. “Then I think I’ll take her for a little ride.”

  “Good,” Judith said, noting that Mrs. Greenwalt was watching them with a wary eye.

  “Mind that garment bag!” she shouted.

  “Gotcha,” the driver called back, then spoke under her breath to Judith. “In more ways than one.”

  After the morning haze had lifted, the sun came out and the temperature rose. High sixties, Judith calculated. It was a lovely day. But somehow, it didn’t feel like it.

  It was after two before Judith had the rooms cleaned and ready for the next batch of visitors. Phyliss never worked on the Sabbath; she rarely worked on the day before the Sabbath, either, insisting that she had to get herself into the proper mood for worship. Over the past few months, Judith had considered hiring someone part-time to help with the weekend tasks. Now might be a good time. Students would be looking for summer jobs. She decided to put an ad in the paper.

  Wanting to stay near the phone, she took it with her while she worked in the yard. But after two hours, there was no call from Uncle Al. It was likely that he’d gone out to the track for the afternoon. The ponies took precedence over all other animals, including Sweetums.

  “Where’s that wretched cat?” Gertrude asked, wheeling her way to the small patio. “I heard about his latest shenanigans from Arlene. Too bad he didn’t claw that pain in the butt into shreds. I’ve no time for people like that. They think they’re big shots, just because they can afford to travel. Phooey.”

  Judith looked up from the flower bed next to the fence that separated Hillside Manor from the Dooleys’ property. Maybe it was best to be candid. “Sweetums decided to go exploring at Uncle Al’s. I think Uncle Al went to the horse races. I’ll call around seven. He should be back by then. The last race goes off at six.”

  Gertrude’s face crinkled with worry. “You think so?” She gave herself a little shake. “Sure he will. He’s too ornery to miss supper.”

  Like owner, like pet, Judith thought. Gertrude probably envied Sweetums’s ability to take off and savor liberty. Maybe the old girl was vicariously enjoying the cat’s escapade.

  But when Judith got hold of Uncle Al at seven-thirty, Sweet-ums still hadn’t shown up.

  “I stuck around until almost four,” he said, concern edging into his voice. “Then I drove out to the track to catch the last three races. When I got home a little before seven, he still wasn’t here. I put some chow out for him on the back porch before I left, but it hasn’t been touched.”

  “Maybe he’ll come back after dark,” Judith said hopefully. “The trouble is, it stays light so long this time of year.”

  “Let’s bet on it,” Uncle Al replied. “Seven-to-two odds. I’ll call you as soon as your cat crosses the finish line at the door.”

  Judith had barely clicked off when the phone rang in her hand. It was Joe.

  “I had the day off, being Sunday,” he announced, sounding cheerful. “I called your Aunt Ellen and Uncle Win last night in Beatrice, and they offered to meet me halfway in Lincoln. I didn’t realize they were longtime Cornhusker ticket holders. I guess the Nebraska supporters wear red even in the off-season. We had a good time touring the campus, and then we ate some excellent steak at a restaurant I’d found in the tourist guide.”

  “Not one recommended by Aunt Ellen?” Judith inquired.

  “I knew better than that,” Joe replied. “Your aunt’s the only person I know who can still find a four-dollar buffet this side of Nevada. The part I don’t get is that she insists on paying for seconds, even the coffee refills.”

  “Aunt Ellen is not only thrifty, but incredibly honest,” Judith replied. “She once stood on a downtown street corner for twenty minutes with a nickel she’d found in the gutter and waited for someone to claim it. But she’s also very moral. She wouldn’t give it to a wino, and ended up putting it into an expired parking meter to save somebody a ticket.”

  “So how are things at home?” Joe asked.

  Judith informed him about Mike’s departure, but tried to keep her sorrow to herself.

  She was unsuccessful. Joe knew his wife too well. “You can’t let this thing eat away at you. Frankly, I’m glad I had to go out of town,” he said. “It keeps my mind off of Mike’s marital troubles. You should focus on something else. It’s too bad you couldn’t find a dead body someplace. Ha-ha. Only kidding,” he added hastily.

  “Right,” Judith murmured. “So you think you’ll be home Tuesday night?”

  “I’ll know for sure by tomorrow afternoon,” Joe said. “I’ll call you around seven your time, okay?”

  Judith said that would be fine. Feeling desolate, she hung up. No husband, no cat, no reconciliation, no killer. It had not been a good day.

  Here’s my plan,” Judith said to Renie over the phone the next morning. “The Pettibone funeral’s at noon, Langford United Methodist Church. I can get out of here right after eleven. If you could pick me up, I can collect the Subaru from the impound and then we could drive separately to the service.”

  “
Nuttier and nuttier,” Renie muttered. “Okay, why not?”

  “I take it Bill doesn’t need the car today?”

  “Not until this afternoon,” Renie replied. “Right now he’s in the basement, playing with his dirk.”

  Bill Jones had a limited but choice collection of swords, daggers, and other antique blades. At one point, Renie had urged him to buy a fifteenth-century pikestaff that she wanted to use as a hat rack. Bill demurred.

  Renie picked Judith up at eleven-fifteen. Phyliss, who proclaimed that Sweetums wasn’t really missing but had finally turned back into the Archfiend, was knee-deep in the weekend’s accumulated laundry. The parish’s senior-citizen bus had picked up Gertrude, who had gone off to bridge club with Aunt Deb.

  To Judith’s surprise, there was no problem retrieving her car. The officers on duty were courteous and efficient. Judith didn’t mention Joe’s name. She felt it was best to be discreet, lest the saga get back to Joe. The thought of him blowing a gasket wasn’t pleasant.

  Renie led the way to the church, which was located about a mile from Uncle Al’s and a half mile from the Blands’ house. The day was warm and the small church was packed. Dying young always attracted a crowd, Judith thought as she and Renie allowed an usher to find them places on the aisle in the next to the last row of pews. Unlike the elderly, those who were taken too soon left behind many friends and relatives.

  Renie twisted this way and that in her seat, trying to look over and around the people in front of her. “Alyssa,” she whispered to Judith. “Second row on the right, short dark hair, black suit with white trim on the collar.”

  Being almost a half-foot taller than Renie and on the aisle, Judith spotted Alyssa Pettibone Barnes with comparative ease. “I don’t see Bert,” she said under her breath. “He must be a pallbearer.”

  “He is,” Renie replied, checking the memorial program the usher had given them. “There’s a Barnes, too. That must be Lyssa’s husband.”

  The soloist had concluded singing “The Old Rugged Cross.” There was a pause before the minister appeared on the altar and the organ played the notes to begin the service. The mourners all stood as the casket was moved slowly into the church proper.

  The six pallbearers seemed to come from two generations—young and middle-aged. Judith recognized Bert Pettibone, despite the forty years that had passed since she’d seen him last in grade school. He wasn’t as thin, he now wore glasses, and his graying brown hair had receded, but the features were basically the same.

  The casket, adorned with a spray of lilies and roses, rolled past the cousins. Judith bowed her head and said a prayer for Alfred Pettibone’s soul and for his survivors.

  The funeral was conducted with dignity and simplicity: hymns, prayers, and a eulogy by the pastor. Alfred—or Fred, as he was better known—had been a hardworking individual, a man of faith, and devoted to his family. Fred and his wife had a daughter and a son, now grown. The deceased had spent most of his life working for the government and earning high praise from his superiors. He had been taken before his time, but that was God’s will.

  “Bull,” Renie muttered. “That’s not how it works. God gets too much blame for humankind’s flaws.”

  Judith nodded, but remained silent as the pastor concluded by announcing that the casket would be opened for viewing and that a reception would follow in the church hall.

  “The only dead bodies I look at are the ones you find,” Renie whispered to Judith. “I’m going to track down Lyssa and give her my condolences. Gawk, if you want to.”

  Doubts about her reason for attending the services began to assail Judith. Was there any point in viewing the deceased? The hunch had come from out of left field. Often, her intuition had been proved right. But she had also been wrong on numerous occasions.

  Approximately two thirds of the mourners were queued up to pay their last respects to Fred Pettibone. Judith moved into her place near the end of the line. It was a slow process. The closer she got to the coffin, the more she heard sniffles and weeping. Fred must have been well loved. Certainly the minister had made him sound like a fine man. Maybe Renie was right. Judith was going crazy.

  At last she approached the casket. Taking a deep breath, she looked at the dead man.

  She was right.

  He might be Fred Pettibone to the rest of the world, but he was Frank Purvis to Judith.

  FIFTEEN

  YOU’RE KIDDING!” RENIE exclaimed when she and Judith rendezvoused outside the church. “How in the hell did you figure that one out before you saw the body?”

  A couple of older women apparently coming from the church overheard Renie and briefly stopped in their tracks on the stone walkway. Judith looked away from them and shielded her eyes from the midday sun. “It was the way the body was handled by the police,” Judith said, keeping her voice down as other mourners trickled out of the church. “It didn’t sound right, not according to what Joe has told me about unclaimed victims. Then it dawned on me that Alfred Pettibone was about the same age as Frank Purvis. There was no mention of how he died in the obituary, nor did the minister refer to it just now. Also, remembrances were to be made to the humane society. That’s a good cause, but usually when someone passes away in their forties, it’s heart or cancer, and the memorials are sent to related research associations or to a hospice.”

  “A lucky guess,” Renie remarked drolly, but her expression became thoughtful. “Yes, not to mention that if it’s cancer, there’s often a brief account of the deceased’s courage or the family’s appreciation for caregivers. If it’s an accident of some sort, there’s a reference to the ‘senseless tragedy.’ But I still don’t quite get it.”

  Judith and Renie had moved under the shade of a dogwood tree. “It was the initials, too,” Judith said. “All of the Pettibones had names that began with A, but they were known by their nicknames—Bert for Albert, Fred for Alfred, Lyssa for Alyssa, and, as I recall, Lexi, for Alexis.”

  “So?”

  “Fred Pettibone—the names start with the same initials as Frank Purvis,” Judith pointed out. “And, by the way, what did Frank—I mean, Fred—do for the federal government? His résumé was far from complete.”

  “That’s true,” Renie said. “There weren’t any memories from the congregation, either. Not that I mind—those things can go on until I want to jump in the casket and get wheeled away along with the corpse.”

  “You’ve got to introduce me to Lyssa,” Judith declared. “Then maybe I can meet Fred’s widow. Andrea, I think her name is.”

  “I assume they don’t call her ‘Drea,’” Renie murmured, then narrowed her eyes at her cousin. “Surely you don’t mean meeting them now?”

  “Why not?” Judith responded. “I’m not going to drill either one of them, but I’d like an entrée into the family.”

  Renie looked grim. “Okay, let’s go back inside.” Suddenly she brightened. “Maybe they have some decent food at the reception.”

  “You graze, I talk,” Judith said as they returned to the church and headed down a flight of stairs.

  “But you don’t conduct an interrogation,” Renie warned. “May I remind you, this isn’t the place for it.”

  “I know, I know,” Judith replied. “I’ll be discreet.”

  The reception line had dwindled to a half-dozen people. The other guests were sitting at round tables, eating finger food from the buffet that was set up under a large painting of Jesus feeding the multitudes with loaves and fishes.

  Renie started for the buffet, but Judith grabbed her arm. “Hold it. Introductions first, food second.”

  Renie frowned at the selection of fruit, raw vegetables, crackers, and cheese. She turned to a gray-haired woman wearing an apron and pointed to the picture of Jesus.

  “Could I have what He’s serving?” Renie asked.

  Staring with disapproval at Renie, the woman stomped away in her sturdy shoes.

  “And you criticize me,” Judith muttered, hauling Renie over to the
Pettibone family, where they were receiving condolences from the last of the funeral attendees.

  “Lyssa,” Renie said with a sympathetic expression that probably fooled everybody except Judith, “I couldn’t leave without introducing you to my cousin Judith Flynn. We had a car problem, so she came with me. I’m sure you’ve heard me speak of her.”

  Lyssa Barnes’s smile was about as convincing as Renie’s sympathy. “Oh, yes. You run a motel, don’t you?”

  “A bed-and-breakfast,” Judith replied. “I understand you work for the gas company.”

  Lyssa, a plump woman with auburn hair and deep green eyes, nodded. “That’s how I met Serena.”

  “I went to grade school with Bert,” Judith said.

  “Really?” Lyssa gazed across the room to where her brother was now standing by the buffet table. “I was a few years behind Bert.”

  “I’m sorry about your other brother,” Judith said, noticing that the Widow Pettibone was about to move on. “I must convey my condolences to your sister-in-law. And Bert, of course.”

  Lyssa called after Andrea, who had taken a few steps away from where the receiving line had formed. Andrea turned. She was a pretty woman, though pale and drawn. Lyssa made the introductions.

  “I was widowed quite young, too,” Judith said, putting out her hand. “Believe me, I know what you’re going through.”

  “Thank you,” Andrea said, her handshake limp. “You went to school with Bert?”

  Judith nodded. “Grade school. I lived in Langford for a few years before my family moved to Heraldsgate Hill. How are your children coping?”

  Andrea looked in the direction of the two young adults who were talking to Bert and a woman who might have been his wife. “They’re still in a state of shock. When someone passes so suddenly, it’s terribly hard. Excuse me, I should be with them.”

  Judith was left alone in the middle of the room. More people were leaving. Renie, in fact, had deserted Judith and was edging her way into the kitchen. Lyssa had also moved off, speaking with an older couple who were seated at a table toward the end of the church hall.