The Viola Brothers Shore Mystery

by Viola Brothers Shore

  “Oh, damn! Wouldn’t you know—?” Steffie kicks off the quilt and goes to answer the phone. “Don’t say a word till I get back!”

  “Who was threatening her? Somebody that’s been around all the time because she was through playing tiddlediwinks. Forget about Bud. He was home in bed. Who used to talk to her around The Hamburger Hut?”

  How can I remember? A waitress talks to everybody. Scudder? She wouldn’t expect money from an undertaker with an old jalopy. Money. Money for the trip—Steffie calls up, “Tante Fayga, Father’s stuck out at Burke’s Crossing and wants to talk to you.”

  Mrs. Bendovid starts out, pulling the bathrobe around her. “What did she have that was worth money? What was her lucky number—Seven? Think, Katy—”

  Think. “My lucky number even takes the hex off 13”—13 and 7 on the travel folder but where do we go—? “You wouldn’t know your luck if you saw it, Alma Taylor.” “Oh, nor I’d see a fortune other people would pass by.” A fortune—“It doesn’t take a fortune to see the world. You could do it for $2500—” But that’s what Bud had in the trust account, nearly—

  Forget about Bud. But I can’t. A Bud that was never really in love with Alma, but just wanted to get away from anybody Mom kept shoving down his throat. Poor Mom, she meant well—“Katy, it’s lonely with all the girls gone. You could have Em’s room. He’ll come to his senses now. A boy needs his money to build a house.” To build a house—imagine—your own house—“I helped Pop build this house with these two hands”—

  Oh, no. NO! No, that’s crazy. Think, Katy. Somebody that’s been there all the time. That followed her from the Bazaar and hated her enough to…

  With a flat heavy object.

  But you wouldn’t have it in your car!

  If you’d been pressing stuff for the Bazaar?

  Dear God, NO!

  I hear them coming and I’m out like a light. On my face, so you couldn’t tell. I hear them whispering, “Tomorrow—”

  I won’t be here tomorrow. Don’t worry, Mrs. B., the murderer isn’t laying for me. She likes me. She wanted me for a daughter…

  Long after I hear her breathing, I’m still seeing pieces. Not Mom alibiing Bud, but the other way, and that’s why he wouldn’t talk. Once you begin to see… Other people are paid to see. It’s not up to me to help them. Or Bud. He wouldn’t want that kind of help…

  But the pieces keep spinning around. Around and around and when I grab them they melt in my hand. A piece with numbers—a ticket around the world—it’s pasted across my face and I can’t breathe—it’s over my nose but my nose is rubber, a puppy’s nose, and a man without a face is putting a leash around my neck, and when I break away two hands grab me and throw me in a crate, a narrow crate, it’s a coffin and I’m jammed in and it’s on fire—let me out—

  It’s not daylight yet, but I had enough. I sneak on my clothes and tiptoe downstairs. Some way I’ll get a hitch into town and out of town tonight. I’m feeling for the front door when it begins to open—

  But it’s day now, even if it isn’t light, and Mr. Daniels is very human. He knows I’m there, because they told him. “They’re a formidable team, Katy, and I’m not up to facing them. So let’s pick up what’s on my desk and sneak off for a cup of coffee—”

  And I’m a so-and-so if I couldn’t kiss the County Attorney!

  * * * *

  The longest day ends some time. I ought to know, I lived through it. The day the big freeze breaks and the big snow slushes and every pair of galoshes might bring in a sealskin… But finally it’s closing time and Mom Kulic says, “Come home with us, Katy,” but I’m not sleeping anywhere in Hoytstown. I’m leaving everything shipshape so they’ll only say, “Waitresses! They all got itching feet.” Then Scudder’s driving me to some burg where I don’t know anybody’s barn to get on fire—Jones’s or anybody else’s.

  The door opens and I think it’s Scudder, and it’s the Sealskin! She’s sorry to be so late, she only wants a cup of coffee, her granddaughter’s picking her up. Like a nightmare you know you have dreamed before.

  I hear Mom say to Mrs. Bendovid, “White streaks in our Burgers? You mean fat?”—and I want to warn her not to say any more, not even what’s in a Burger, but while I’m catching Mom’s eye she calls out, “Pop! Pop!”—and crumbles in a chair.

  “I’m afraid I gave her a shock, telling her your boy will be home,” the Sealskin says to Pop. Poor Mom. And poor little pint-size Pop, so crazy about her and his family. Tears are running down his face. I can’t take any more. I want to scream, Go home! Leave them alone!

  The door goes again and it’s Steffie, all lit up with neons because she’s got Deputy Bingham in tow. “I’ve been telling him about Father’s new lead and he’s telling me all about Supercargoes and Dittybags and—” I give up. I guess I was never seventeen.

  “What’ll you have? On the house!” Pop’s like a crazy man, laughing and crying.

  “Order for me, Bing, whatever you take.” Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and Bing’s Y-Bomb will blast out her tonsils, but maybe it’s worth it for love. I give him a tip on his way to the john. “Look, One-Track, no girl wants to hear about all the silver stars on your family tree and how you trailed a coupe to Burke’s Crossing.”

  “But she asked me! Because her father’s crew let the trail slip through their fingers. She thinks the C.A.’s office and the Sheriff’s ought to work much closer together.” Go argue with G-meningitis. And anyway, Rubberface Scudder is there, kind of pathetic, like somebody’s finally buying a cemetery share. “You ready, Miss Katy?”

  “You can’t take Katy,” says Mrs. Bendovid, like she’s been elected America’s Grandma. “Sit down, Mr. Scudder. I think you’ll be interested in my theory about Myths, Monomania, and Murder.”

  Scudder sits down. He looks around like he don’t know where to look. “What’s this theory about—”

  “Oh, how one leads to another. I was in Philadelphia today talking to your relatives, the Brandeaus—” Which is news to me! “They feel the police bungled the kidnapping of the Brandeau child.”

  “Such a terrible experience,” Mom says. “People without children don’t know!”

  “To torture a Mother’s heart is worse than murder!” Pop bangs down the assorted Burgers. “A mother-torturer has no right to live! And if the Law is blind—”

  “We never stop looking,” says Deputy Bingham the Law, back from the john. “Even when the trail gets cold, we always turn up something new—” and he swaps looks with Steffie.

  A crazy hope stabs up in me. County Attorney Daniels! Three amachoors making with Interconnections but Daniels is a trained man and he—“Wait!” It busts out of me. “I’ve got it!”

  “What?”

  “The Interconnection! Alma got here the first week in November and the kidnapping—” That’s backwards—“I mean Alma said, ‘You wonder how St. Peter’s looks, compared to the Meeting House in Burke’s Crossing.’ Don’t you see? In Burke’s Crossing! That’s where Mr. Daniels was and that’s where you found little Billy Brandeau! And Halloween was a Sunday—”

  “Wait a minute.” Bing is very Deputy-Sheriff now. “If you’ve got any evidence—”

  “Let her talk while she’s pro-Jones,” says Gen. Bendovid.

  But I don’t know where to begin. “Nobody knew where Alma expected to get the money to travel—”

  “From Bud’s bank account! That she-devil told him to go to Law against his own Mother!” Pop says the word like it’s holy.

  “You got the wrong picture! Alma was just a farm kid with a tick to see the places in the Bible, and Bud ought to get away! If Mom could learn to let him pick his own life—”

  Pop don’t like that, but Steffie wants to know, “Where was Alma going to get the money?”

  “From the kidnapping reward! That’s the $2500 she was after!”

/>   “Look here. This is very important.” Bing is very important, too. Because I don’t really know—

  “Take your hands off her! If Miss Katy wants to see the Sheriff, we’ll stop off there!” says Rubberface.

  It looks like they’re going to fight over me, and it’s going to be too bad for Scudder. “We’ll drive her,” Pop says. “Katy’s coming home with us.”

  But I don’t know. I don’t know what’ll happen after the Sheriff. Only whatever it is, I wish it was over. Because I’m scared. Scared of Willow Lane—as if I know I’ll never come back.

  “Katy’s not going anywhere,” says Mrs. Bendovid. “There’s been enough muddling on this case. Too much. If the Sheriff wants her, let him send a warrant.”

  That’s hitting Bing where he’s touchy. “I’m an officer of the Law—”

  “And the Law is older than you and your new special gloves and belt and badge, and there’s no such thing as enforcement that’s bigger than the due process, and it’s time all you little tin stars found that out!”

  Boy! She’s got a temper too! Steffie looks scared to death and I see Bing’s fist close and if she wasn’t an old lady, he’d of let her have it. You can see him holding himself in. “Nobody’s got to teach us Binghams our job! Come on, Katy! This is a murder case and any vital testimony goes to the Sheriff!”

  Or the County Attorney! Because that’s my boy, Daniels, always opening the right door at the right minute. Steffie calls out, “Just in time, Father!”—and I’d like to kiss him.

  “You said you wanted a lift home.” He looks exactly like you think a County Attorney looks.

  “I couldn’t get you here any other way, and I promised Bing—”

  Bing drops his gloves back on the table. “Was it the right ring, Mr. Daniels?”

  Daniels’ jaw gets even squarer. “What ring?”

  But Steffie’s not scared of him. “You always say there’s no rivalry with the Sheriff’s office, so I told Bing (a) you had a call from the State Police; (b) you took along the drawing of the ring; and (c) you said, ‘Go to sleep, it’s in the bag.’ Of course, if you didn’t get the murderer—”

  “I didn’t. Put on your coat!”

  “Then our Bud isn’t coming home?” Poor Mom Kulic.

  “Who said—?”

  “Me,” says Mrs. B. “You won’t want him when you have the real murderer. Well, between us we have all the pieces. If you don’t want to talk about the ring, sit down and listen. You too, Mr. Scudder. You wanted to know about Monomania and Murder?”

  “This is no way, Mr. Daniels! My Uncle—”

  “Take it easy, fella, you’ll last longer. Your Uncle’s out in Burke’s Crossing. And if there’s any glory coming, you earned your share.” Daniels looks around the table. “We’ll send your boy home tomorrow. If he had been willing to cooperate—”

  “When people do, you don’t take any interest in what they find,” says Steffie.

  Daniels is a Great Dane being nagged by a Pom. “Okay, baby. The Lab found blood on your paper bag, but not enough to type. You told Bing about your Big Clue?”

  But she doesn’t bat an eye. “Oh, it was nothing—just some Hamburgers I found in Willow Wood.”

  “Hamb—!” Bing is a thunderstorm going somewhere to break. “That’s why you were pumping me!”

  Daniels grins. “Some day I’ll tell you what they did to me on the Meyer case. All right, let’s put the cards on the table. A State Trooper saw an antique topaz ring on a girl’s finger and when we get the truth out of her—” He looks tired but kind of pleased with life.

  Bing decides to sit in. “You saw the ring? Was it Alma’s?”

  “No initials, but I’d bet—”

  “Save your money,” Mrs. B advises.

  He puts his hand in his pocket. “You knew the ring, Katy?”

  My eyes pop out. “Alma’s ring! There couldn’t be two!”

  “Why not?” Bendovid again.

  “I’d swear that’s the ring Alma used to wear!” Bing is all hot now, except one cold shoulder to Miss Daniels. “Where’d she say she got it?”

  “If she’d say, we’d have this case sewed up. She swears she bought it.”

  Mrs. B digs in her bag. “From an ex-G.I. that stole it out of the Borgia Museum for his wife who since walked out, and he wants to forget about her.”

  Daniels don’t look pleased with anything any more. My trump-card Daniels—so I says, “But that proves it’s Alma’s! Because that’s what she told me about the Borgias—”

  “Those Borgias,” says Mrs. B. “How they ever had time to wear all the genuine antique Borgia rings, let alone the fingers!” She brings something out of her bag. “Which would you swear Alma used to wear?”

  Daniels picks up his chips and you can see he’s used to her. But Bing is gawking at the dead-ringer. “Where did you get that?”

  “In Philadelphia. The same ex-G.I. was around there. In fact, they’ve got him locked up, but it was a good racket while it lasted. Sit still, he’ll be there tomorrow if you want to ask him who bought one in Hoytstown.” Bing wants to ask him right now, but Steffie says, “Tomorrow, Bing,” and squeezes her father’s arm. “I tried to tell you but you never come to the phone.”

  Daniels is a sport. “Remind me to give you a code word next time. Where you going, Scudder?”

  “To get a drink—”

  “I’ll get a pitcher!” I don’t want him leaving that table. I just noticed the bulge under his arm.

  Daniels takes a long drink. “Now, let’s have it. Straight. Don’t go all around Robin’s barn.”

  “How many County Offices have been playing tag around Robinson’s barn?”

  “Four, Tante Fayga, now the State Police are in—”

  “So it’s worth a minute to sew it up neat? And if women sew neater, it’s because we get so much practice. What was the first Interconnection, Katy? Between the Murderer and the Weapon?” That was the second but I’m not holding up the show. “Could I see your gun, son?”

  “What?” But Daniels hands it over.

  “And yours, Deputy? Just lay it on the table. And Mr. Scudder? The one under your arm? Mr. Kulic?” Pop has to get his from behind the counter.

  Daniels is impatient. “Look, Tante Fayga—”

  “I know the girl wasn’t shot. And the monomaniac that smashed her poor face isn’t carrying around a weapon that would show blood. That he disposed of long ago.”

  “Well, then—”

  “You’ll see. First, we go back to Halloween when little Billy Brandeau crawled through the hedge and somebody carried him off to Burke’s Crossing. And Alma coming back from church passes the Old Mill—”

  “WAIT!” Because I’ve got it this time. “Remember, Mr. Scudder, you asked what men Alma went around with and I told you they needed something better than a jalopy? Because she said to me, Every car in the County is supposed to park here some time—and she kept watching cars—cars—Because that’s what she saw at the Old Mill—a strange car! And when she heard about the reward, she remembered part of the license. And she came to work here to find a car with numbers beginning P—0713!”

  “That’s my Katy!” Mrs. B pats my hand. “That’s the missing piece.”

  “But that’s easy to find out,” Daniels says, like he bit a rubber grape. And Scudder says, “All she had to do was ask.” And Bing says, “Sure! She could have come to the Sheriff’s—”

  Mrs. B drops her napkin over the guns. “But that’s what she did, Deputy Bingham. And you thought you could string her along and keep her happy with a ring. And when you found she was as One-Track as you, and her track led right to the car you had before the Brandeaus gave you the Buick, you strangled her and bashed in her head with one of these—” And she holds up Bing’s new left glove that has the metal strip inside.

  Fo
r a minute everybody’s frozen. It’s the grab for the glove that gives him away. I guess it was instinct, but Daniels is pretty instinctive too, and the poor old amachoor Family Sleuth is right in there pitching, and the guns are still under the napkin. But that Bing is a hellcat and the place is a shambles and they’re so mixed up you can’t get at him and he’s dragging them all to the door. I put out my foot and when they go down, I let fly with what I have in my hand. Once for poor Alma and again for little Billy Brandeau. The third time the ketchup bottle breaks and somebody pulls me away. And Tante Fayga shoves a cup in my hand.

  The men are all outside and I haven’t got my breath when Steffie says, “I never could stand him.”

  She sure put on a good show. “When did you guess?”

  “Oh, the minute we got those Y-Bombs and saw the horseradish, we knew. Because she broke open the frozen one and it was full of white streaks. But it took Tante Fayga to do anything as common-sensible as breaking a case by breaking open a Hamburger.”

  “After going around Robinson Crusoe’s barn,” says Mrs. B. “Without hamburger and without gloves, he was the only interconnection with all the other pieces—the complete cases he dug up on those boys—the dark coupe he reported that all my son-in-law’s men couldn’t uncover—”

  “Even the papers missing from Father’s office. If I’d only thought—”

  “If. If. If hindsight was foresight, who would need grandmothers? Come along, Katy, you’re a very material witness.”

  I’m just beginning to get the whole picture. Crazy one-track Bing that had to win his badge some way, and who ever looks at what ticks in back of one? If I’d gone with him—“Believe me,”—and I’ll burn in anybody’s barn if I don’t mean it—“from now on my name is Jones!”

  “Kulic is better.” Good old Mom. Some people never learn. Just the same I try it—Katy Kulic. If—

  If. If. If Grandma had wheels—

  I’ll take her just the way she is.