The Wurst Is Yet to Come

by Mary Daheim

  And just when it was getting interesting, Judith thought, clutching her plate and searching among the beer tasters for Renie. The red sweater ought to have been easy to spot, but there was no sign of her cousin. Judith contented herself with standing near the tent opening and enjoying the bratwurst and its numerous accompaniments.

  She had finished eating when she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Hi, coz,” Renie said, entering the tent with a big bag of popcorn and a large Pepsi. “How’s the brat?”

  Judith recovered from her surprise. “You mean what I ate or Eleanor Denkel?”

  Renie scowled. “Eleanor’s here?”

  “She’s manning the Bratwürste,” Judith said. “Ellie admitted she didn’t kill Herr Wessler. But it seems as if he’s really dead.”

  “No kidding,” Renie said, after slurping down some Pepsi. “Have they got him propped up here with the beer kegs?”

  Judith shook her head. “They’ll hold the funeral at Saint Hubert’s Church. The way Ellie talked about it, I don’t think she was lying. That means we really have to sleuth.”

  “I thought we already were,” Renie said, before tossing a big handful of popcorn in her mouth.

  “Well . . . I always hedge my bets.” Judith couldn’t quite quell her mixed emotions. “It has to be the most peculiar case I’ve ever come across. And I’m not just talking about the local cops. What on earth does Gabe Hunter have to do with Herr Wessler? I wonder what kind of background check Duomo ran on him.”

  Renie had stuffed more popcorn in her mouth. “Mebedint.”

  Judith had learned to translate her cousin’s eat-and-speak long ago. “He must’ve checked out Gabe. The chief would need to make a connection in order to find a motive. As for witnesses, we know what a zoo that must’ve been like at the cocktail party.”

  Renie swallowed the popcorn. “We would? We left, remember?”

  “Now I wish we’d stayed.” Judith took her empty plate to a nearby bin. “Where did you get popcorn and Pepsi?”

  “I remembered I didn’t like beer that much,” Renie explained. “Besides, you have to buy tickets to sample the various different kinds. I’ll only drink beer if it’s free.”

  “Good thinking,” Judith said. “So where’d you get your snack?”

  “They’re showing old German movies on a screen in a tent down the street. I’ve seen plenty of Fritz Lang, so I stayed only for the food and pop part. Hey, you look gloomy. Want to go have some real dinner?”

  “Huh?” Judith had only half heard her cousin. “Oh—dinner? No, I’m full. Ellie didn’t cheat on the serving. Maybe we can have a late supper. Can you last that long?”

  “Sure,” Renie said. “I just wish they’d put more butter on the popcorn. I asked for extra, but got extra small.” She frowned at Judith. “What’s bothering you? Should I attack somebody as a diversion?”

  “No,” Judith replied, peeking outside to see if the rain was falling any harder. It wasn’t—in fact, it looked like a mere drizzle. “Let’s go to Wolfgang’s. We need to ask some questions.”

  Renie smirked. “You have a theory.”

  “Well,” Judith said as they made their exit, “not exactly. But I wonder if all this confessing and arresting isn’t a stall. The organizers—including Fritz Gruber—wouldn’t like a real homicide charge until after Oktoberfest is over, right? That’d make for bad publicity. I wonder if they’ve closed ranks.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Oh, come on, coz,” Judith said, surprised to see how many people were on the street, cheerfully milling about and enjoying the damp, fresh autumn air. “You’ve worked with PR types for years. You know how they react to anything that’s negative.”

  “Sure,” Renie said, making way for a couple with a baby in what looked like the Rolls-Royce of strollers, “but it seldom involves murder.”

  “It can,” Judith said, “as we both know.”

  Renie sighed. “Hey—you’ve walked too much, you’ve been standing too long. Let’s stop at . . .” Her gaze swung left. “Wolfgang’s bar.”

  “That’s where we’re going.”

  “I know,” Renie said, “but I had visions of you accosting the first person we met inside the door and interrogating everybody right down to that grumpy chef. We need to take a break.”

  Judith didn’t argue. The crime-scene tape was gone from the entrance. A sudden calm met them in the lobby. During the past few hours, Judith had become so inured to the raucous sound of revelry that she suddenly realized her need for peace and quiet. Even the front desk was deserted. An arrow pointed to the dining room and bar in the opposite direction from where the cocktail party had been held the previous night.

  Except for a couple who seemed absorbed in each other, the bar was empty. No one seemed to be serving drinks, though the occupied table had wineglasses that appeared to be at least half full.

  “You have to ring for service,” the male customer said. “There’s a bell on the bar.”

  Renie rang the bell. Loudly. “Now what?” she said to Judith.

  “We could serve ourselves,” Judith murmured. “I have experience.”

  “I don’t have experience as one of your Meat & Mingle clientele,” Renie responded. “Do I have to drool on the counter and cuss a lot?”

  “Not funny,” Judith retorted. “I’ve tried to squelch those memories for over twenty years.”

  The harried Ruby appeared through a rear door. “You again,” she said, her eyes showing a spark of amusement. “What’ll it be this time?”

  “You have two jobs?” Judith said in surprise.

  “I’d have three, if I could find another one,” Ruby snapped. “Burt blogs, but he doesn’t earn. Well? You thirsty or what?”

  “Scotch-rocks,” Judith said. “Water back, house brand will do.”

  “Canadian,” Renie said, “with ice, 7UP, and rocks. Make it Crown Royal and I’ll pay for it.”

  Ruby shot Renie a disapproving look. “Lose the popcorn and the soda. We don’t allow outside food in here.”

  “It’s not outside,” Renie said. “It’s already here.”

  “You heard . . .” the waitress began.

  Judith snatched the offending items away from her cousin and handed them over. “Ignore her. She’s from the Meat & Mingle. If she gets rowdy, I’ll toss her.”

  Ruby’s eyes widened. “The Meat & Mingle? You mean that old dump in the Thurlow part of the city? I thought that place went broke right after my dad got arrested there.”

  “Ah . . .” Judith was speechless.

  “Hey,” Renie said, leaning on the bar, “did he get busted for stealing the owner’s wife’s purse?”

  Ruby seemed almost as shaken as Judith. “Yeah, except it was her wallet. Another drunk ratted on him to an off-duty cop. How do you know that? It was twenty years ago, when I was still in high school.”

  “Ah,” Renie said, “then the drinks are on you. Meet the victim, the former Mrs. McMonigle, now Mrs. Flynn, but always Judith.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Ruby murmured. “Do I need your ID as proof?”

  Judith had found her voice. “Was your father fair-haired going bald, five ten, two hundred pounds with a wart over his right eye and a USN tattoo on the left forearm? Hung out with a guy called Big Bad Something-or-Other.”

  “Yep,” Ruby said, shaking hands with Judith. “Jimmy Tooms. He croaked not long ago. His Harley went off the road after he came up here to borrow money. Mom had already dumped him.”

  “Jimmy,” Judith said, weighing the name with all the pain and suffering that had gone along with the rest of the Meat & Mingle’s tawdry clientele. “I don’t recall—did he do time?”

  “Twice,” Jimmy’s daughter said, pouring Scotch from a bottle Judith didn’t recognize. “Not for pinching your wallet, though. What happened to Mr. McMonigle?�
�

  “He blew up,” Judith said. “What kind of Scotch is that?”

  “You probably wouldn’t know it,” Ruby said. “It’s from a new distillery in Scotland. Old Presentation, just released this year.”

  “So how did you end up here?” Judith asked.

  “Long story,” Ruby said, her gaze veering past the cousins. “Better check on refills before I head back to the dining room.” She made an endrun around the bar, heading for her other customers.

  “Darn,” Judith said under her breath. “She’s a source. Maybe we’ll get lucky and most people will be at the Oktoberfest events. There’s the concert and some other events tonight.” She smiled wanly as Ruby returned to the bar. “If we need refills, do we ring the bell again?”

  “Help yourselves,” Ruby said. “You’ve got experience. Heck, you can wait on anybody who needs a drink. I’ve got dinner patrons.”

  “Maybe,” Judith said after Ruby had briskly finished her tasks and exited the bar, “we should eat here. I wonder why Barry didn’t have to work. He mentioned taking Jessi to the beer tasting, but I didn’t see them there while I was waiting for you.”

  “Slow night with everything else going on,” Renie noted. “As for Fritz Gruber, he apparently tends bar as a lark. I suppose he’s involved in some of the other doings.”

  “Probably,” Judith conceded, noting that two young women had sat down at a table near the door. “Am I really supposed to play bartender?”

  “Why not? After twenty years, you don’t want to lose your touch.”

  “I also don’t want to fall down. This Scotch is really powerful.”

  “Want me to serve them?”

  “Lord, no! Have you got something against Wolfgang’s?”

  “Other than a corpse last night?” Renie shrugged. “No, if I had that kind of reaction, I’d never come to your B&B.”

  Judith sighed. “Fine. I’ll wait on the newcomers.”

  The strawberry blonde and her raven-haired chum ordered a drink Judith had never heard of. “I’m sorry,” she confessed. “I’m not familiar with a cocktail called Between the Sheets. What are the ingredients?”

  Both young women giggled and jiggled. “Wow,” the strawberry blonde said, “this is really small-town! I thought everybody knew what goes into Between the Sheets.” They both giggled some more.

  Judith finally got the basics out of the duo. “Ever heard of a Between the Sheets?” she whispered to Renie.

  “Only when I lose my Big Red chewing gum at night and it gets stuck to the sheets—and Bill. Then I hear plenty.”

  Judith juggled brandy, rum, triple sec, and lemon juice in the hope that she was close to the correct amounts. “Why do I feel as if I’m past my pull date?” she muttered, adding a lemon twist to each drink. “When I started tending bar at the Meat & Mingle, I served anyone who wanted a mixed drink a martini because it was the only cocktail I knew how to make. They didn’t care. I could’ve poured lighter fluid and they’d have been happy.”

  “I thought you did,” Renie said. “To cut costs, I mean.”

  Judith ignored the comment and carried the drinks to the young women. “I hope I made them the way you wanted,” she said.

  The raven-haired giggler sampled hers. “Close enough. Is it true that some old dude got whacked here last night?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Judith said.

  Miss Strawberry beamed with pleasure—or maybe it was excitement. “Can we go see where it happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Judith said. “It may still be a crime scene.”

  The young women looked thrilled. “Tell us where the old guy got offed,” Miss Raven begged. “Can we leave our drinks to check it out?”

  “Sure, why not?” Judith said wearily. “It was in the ballroom.”

  “With the wrench or the lead pipe?” Miss Strawberry asked, green eyes sparkling.

  “It’s not a game,” Judith declared. “It’s a tragedy.”

  Both young women sobered. “We know that,” Miss Strawberry said, looking defensive. “We came here to party, not go all grim about some poor old geezer who got himself killed just because he was a Communist. Who cares about that stuff now? It’s so last century.”

  Judith stared at the young woman. “Where did you hear that?”

  “At the ski shop,” Miss Raven said. “A really cute guy told us.”

  Miss Strawberry waved a hand in dismissal. “That guy was a snowboard geek. The girl who was hanging out with him said the old man was a Nazi chef.”

  Miss Raven made a face. “Here?”

  “No, in Germany. You know, when they had that war over there.”

  “Which war? Did I see the movie?”

  “Hey!” Ruby had come out from behind the bar. “I was kidding. You don’t have to work. I’ll take over. We’ve got a dining lull.”

  “No problem,” Judith said, reluctantly moving away from the two young women. “I’m a bit lost with some of the newer cocktails, though.”

  “Who isn’t?” Ruby said. “It’s all about the name, not the booze.”

  Renie, who’d watched Judith from her bar-stool perch, grinned at Ruby. “I managed to pour some Canadian without spilling it.”

  “Good for you.” Ruby wiped down the bar anyway. “Those two on the prowl?” she asked under her breath, nodding at the young women.

  “They want to see the murder site,” Judith said. “Ghoulish.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ruby agreed. “I saw it. The murder, I mean.”

  Judith couldn’t hide her surprise. “You mean the stabbing?”

  “No, just after the crowd moved away from old Wessler. It wasn’t too long after Burt and I talked to you. He’d gone to the can, so I wandered over to get some roast beef.” She grimaced. “That’s when the band stopped and it got so damned quiet. Then everybody moved—and I saw Wessler. Blood was all over the floor. How many times was that poor old coot stabbed?”

  The cousins traded glances. “Once,” Judith said. “Or so we heard.”

  Ruby shook her head. “Were you there?”

  Judith grimaced. “Yes, but we fled. We were in a state of shock.”

  Ruby’s face was grim. “Then you didn’t see all the blood. It looked like a butcher shop. I bet they’re still working on the stains in the floor.”

  “Did you see the body?” Judith quickly clarified the question. “I mean, right away?”

  “Of course,” Ruby said. “Everybody did. Wessler’s son sort of took over, trying to calm people until the cops and the EMTs got there. But it was really gruesome. I had to go throw up.”

  Judith had drained her Scotch during Ruby’s recital. “You didn’t wait for the cops?” she asked, nudging her glass across the bar.

  “Hell, no!” Ruby said, pouring out a generous amount of Scotch and adding more ice. “I was afraid I might pass out. I didn’t come out of the can for at least ten minutes. I wasn’t the only one either. Four or five other gals were sick, too. That ex-wife of Franz Wessler—Klara—was hysterical. Somebody finally slapped her silly. I came in here to calm my nerves. That’s where I found Burt. He missed the whole thing. He thought I was crazy, but I asked what he thought all those sirens were for—it wasn’t just another car going off the mountain pass.”

  “Were you questioned by the police?” Judith asked.

  Ruby shook her head. “I kept a low profile.” Her gaze followed the couple as they left the bar. “ ’Scuse me. I better make sure they didn’t shortchange us on their tab.”

  Renie gulped down more Canadian. “How fried do I have to get before we can have dinner? Now I am hungry.”

  Lost in thought, Judith gave a start. “You’re . . . what?”

  “Hungry,” Renie said, baring her teeth.

  “Okay. Let’s see if we can take our drinks into the dining room,” she sai
d as Ruby returned to the bar.

  “Sure,” Ruby said. “Open seating right now. Everybody’s going to the concert. I hope Klara pulled herself together. She’s going to sing.”

  Judith registered surprise. “She’s a singer?”

  Ruby nodded, topping off Judith’s drink. “Opera. I’m heavy metal. Uh-oh. Here come the dudes. Maybe the Giggle Sisters can get lucky.”

  “What’s your dinner suggestion?” Judith asked.

  “Venison steak,” Ruby said, heading for two young men who had sat down near the girls. “I’ll remind Chef Bruno to hold the antlers.”

  The cousins found their way to the dining room. Only a half-dozen tables were occupied. The walls were decorated with sketches of Mozart, Beethoven, Handel, and some other composers Judith didn’t recognize. Renie, however, rattled off their names. “Wagner, Schubert, Richard Strauss, Papa Haydn, Bach, Brahms, and some guy named Dortmunder.”

  “Dortmunder?” Judith said, sitting down in a booth for two.

  “Something like that,” Renie said. “It’s a composer whose work I don’t like. Too modern.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. What did you think of Ruby’s bloodbath description?”

  “Hey, we’re going to be eating,” Renie said, giving Judith a dirty look. “Can we lighten up?”

  “What about those girls saying that someone at the ski shop told them Wessler was killed because he was a Communist—or a Nazi chef?”

  “Politics,” Renie muttered. “Almost as distasteful as murder. Those twerps wouldn’t know a commie or a Nazi from an oven mitt.”

  “I wondered,” Judith said. “Well?”

  Renie picked up a menu. “A socialist, a republican, an autocrat—who knows? He could be a royalist and Mad Ludwig’s his ancestor. I can imagine the rumors flying around this town. You know how things get twisted, especially in a . . . hey, they’ve got nefle!”

  “They do?” Judith’s dark eyes lit up. “Do you suppose it’s like Grandma Hoffman used to make?”

  “I never ate hers,” Renie said, referring to Judith’s maternal grandmother. “But Grandma Grover made it, too. Let’s hope it’s not really spaetzle. That’s like eating surgical tubing.”