All the Pretty Hearses

by Mary Daheim

  “That might indicate he knew the job wasn’t finished,” Addison suggested. “But he can’t tell you—”

  Judith held up her hand. “Wait—I think I know why he asked me to look for the gun that wasn’t there. It was his way of letting me know something else was going on and that . . .” She took a deep breath. “That it has something to do with the B&B.”

  “Gun?” Addison looked puzzled. “What gun?”

  “The Smith & Wesson he’d carried during the surveillance,” Judith replied, then explained why Joe’s request had been so odd. “He couldn’t say too much because he thought someone might be listening in.”

  “At which end?”

  The question startled Judith. “At the time, I thought he meant where he was, not here. But now I have to wonder.”

  “Maybe the safe holds more than the other guns,” Addison murmured. “What else does Joe keep there?”

  “I looked,” Judith said. “Just personal stuff. Nothing to do with specific PI assignments. He keeps those in a filing cabinet.”

  “Okay.” Addison stared at the embers in the fireplace grate. “If the safe was open, it might be that there was something in it that’s also gone,” he said after a long pause. “It could be background on someone, including the guy who got killed.”

  “Joe wasn’t sure the vic was using his real name.”

  “So I gathered. But he must’ve been told how the on-the-job accident had happened.”

  Judith considered the idea. “Over the years, I’ve seen some of the forms he’s gotten from his clients, especially the ones involving insurance fraud. They give the basics—name of suspected fraud perp, occupation, type of accident, and a copy of the original policy. Cheating spouses, missing persons—all that sort of thing is more detailed and there’s usually no form involved. If a crime has been committed, there’s a copy of a police report. Frankly, Joe doesn’t like taking missing-persons cases, especially when children are involved. I can double-check to see if I missed anything pertinent to the current—I should say former—case.”

  “It’s not really closed, is it?”

  “No.” Judith gazed at the plate rail that lined the living room’s walls. “I’m trying to think of any suspicious guests—other than Jean Rogers—who’ve been here this week. Frankly, they seem like a pretty tame group. This is the B&B’s slowest time of year. Are you really going to spend the night or was that just a ruse to grill me about what’s going on downtown?”

  Addison sighed. “I hadn’t decided—until now. My condo’s fine. I was reluctant to call you, but I had to find out how much you knew about what’s happening with your husband. Now I think I should stay.”

  “You’re welcome to,” Judith said, “but why?”

  He grimaced. “Because you need somebody you can trust.”

  In spite of herself, Judith shivered. Addison’s keen blue eyes seemed to hold some kind of wisdom—or maybe portent—that she lacked. “If you’re trying to scare me,” she said quietly, “you’ve done it.”

  “Good.” He stood up and stretched. “What time do you lock up?”

  “Ten.” She glanced at the grandfather clock. “Five minutes from now. All of the guests aren’t back yet, but like you, they have a front door key.”

  “Where do you sleep?”

  “The family quarters are on the third floor. I can lock the door behind me.”

  “Do that.” Addison walked over to the bay window. “Still raining. I’m wondering if I should stay down here or go up to my room.”

  “You want to grill the guests? You already missed the middle-aged couple from Indianapolis.”

  “I’ll catch that pair at breakfast.”

  Judith couldn’t help but laugh. “I wouldn’t worry about them. They think we’re on the Pacific Ocean.”

  “So do most other people who aren’t from around here. I don’t think they ever look at a map.”

  “Bill calls it a ‘bunker’ mentality. The world moves so fast these days that people just hunker down and practice self-preservation. It’s not only being self-centered, it’s being centered on self.”

  Addison nodded. “If I ever go crazy, I’ll have to make an appointment with Bill. Does he make house calls? Or does he practice what he preaches and never leaves his own house?”

  “He prefers not to, but sometimes it’s necessary—if only to escape from Renie.” Judith picked up her unfinished cocktail and rose from the sofa. “I’m going to clean up the kitchen. If you want anything to eat, feel free to forage.”

  “Should I check on your mother?”

  “You think she’s in danger? Get real. Jack the Ripper would’ve set an unbeatable hundred-meter dash record if he’d come up against her.”

  “But . . .” Addison looked flummoxed. “She seems so . . . sweet.”

  “So did Lizzie Borden.” Judith peered at Addison. “You’ve been reading people for as long as I have. You really aren’t taken in, are you?”

  Addison sighed. “No. But it was fun while it lasted. Your mother does know a lot about theater.”

  Judith nodded. “I’d forgotten that part of her life. It’s strange. My father died when I was very young. There’s so much I don’t know about him. I’ve cursed myself a thousand times for not asking more questions about what he did when he was young, his courtship of Mother, how he felt about teaching.”

  Addison nodded. “Children—even adult children—don’t seem to twig to the fact that their parents had a life before they were born. My own three only ask about my job if something I’ve written impacts them.”

  “Bunker mentality,” Judith murmured. “Maybe it’s been around a lot longer than Bill thinks. It’s just gotten worse.”

  “My job is asking questions. That’s why I wanted to talk to your mother privately when I went out to her apartment.”

  Judith frowned. “What did you want to ask her?”

  “About what she saw or heard when Joe was arrested. There was a second vehicle in the driveway behind the squad car.”

  “Yes, she told me that, but couldn’t see what kind of car it was.”

  “I pressed her a bit,” Addison said. “It wasn’t a car. What she described sounded more like a truck, dark color. What do you make of that?”

  “Nothing,” Judith said after a pause, “but maybe my neighbor Arlene Rankers saw something. She has what we call ABS—Arlene’s Broadcasting System. She knows everything that goes on around this neighborhood, especially in the cul-de-sac. Arlene’s indispensable. I can’t begin to tell you how many times she’s helped me find out . . . things I’ve needed to know. Unfortunately, she and Carl go to bed early. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to talk to her.”

  “Wow. She sounds like a treasure trove of a source.”

  “She’s all that and more. Both Arlene and Carl are amazing neighbors. They’ve taken over the B&B—and Mother—for me on several occasions.”

  “Do you think I should put them on the newspaper payroll?”

  Judith smiled. “Is there such a thing anymore?”

  Addison shook his head. “No. But I would if I could. You look beat. It’s after ten. Go to bed. I’ll be in charge.”

  Judith felt obligated to argue—but didn’t. Addison was right. She was beat. But not beaten.

  The two widowed sisters were up early, despite coming in late from the family reunion dinner. They wanted to get a head start on their visit to other relatives who lived outside of the city. Traffic, the sister from San Diego said, might not be as bad as in Southern California, but it was still daunting—especially to the other sister from Green Bay.

  The couple from Indianapolis had arrived in the dining room a quarter of an hour later, still talking about their waterfront experience—and apparently still convinced they had been on the ocean.

  Addison had joined Judith in the kitchen just
as she was about to take Gertrude’s breakfast out to the toolshed. He insisted on delivering the tray in person. Judith protested, but only in a halfhearted manner. Despite being tired, she’d had trouble getting to sleep without Joe beside her. She kept picturing him lying in a dank cell on a cot with only a small, barred window so high up in the concrete wall that he couldn’t see anything outside except dark nights and gray days. She knew better, having seen the local jail, but the image haunted her anyway. Instead of a grim cell, Joe might be sleeping in the spare bedroom at Woody and Sondra Price’s Tudor brick house on the Eastside.

  By 8:20, Addison had returned from the toolshed and was adroitly quizzing the widows between mouthfuls of buttermilk pancakes, ham, sausage, eggs, and freshly squeezed orange juice. Apparently they didn’t strike him as master criminals, so he moved on to Edgar and Marcia from Indianapolis. The young couple hadn’t yet come downstairs. Nor had the Beard-Smythes, which was just fine with Judith. She hoped they’d have breakfast elsewhere, anywhere except under Hillside Manor’s roof. All she wanted was to take their money and let them run.

  It was going on nine when Edgar and Marcia headed back upstairs. Judith sat down at the dining room table. “Any luck?”

  Addison drank the last of his orange juice. “No. I couldn’t even convince them they aren’t on the ocean and I had trouble trying to tell them they couldn’t drive to Alaska for lunch. Who’s left?”

  “Just the young couple from British Columbia, last name Owens.”

  “First names?”

  “Geoff—spelled as in Chaucer, Cindy with an i and a y—in that order. I looked them up in the register. You can’t be too sure how anybody spells anything these days, including Smith. Oh!” Judith made a face. “I completely forgot to tell you about the nonguests, Alicia and Reggie Beard-Smythe.”

  Addison looked perplexed. “You mean there are some other people here I didn’t know about?”

  Embarrassed, Judith nodded. “I forgot. I wanted to forget. The Beard-Smythes are a stinking-rich couple from our parish. Their gas furnace and hot-water heater went out and are supposed to be fixed today. I got conned into letting them stay here last night. They were in Room Three. Still are—if I can be that unlucky.”

  Addison scowled. “Do they have a dog?”

  “Yes, an Irish wolfhound named Mayo. How did you know?”

  “I heard a dog bark just before I got up,” Addison replied. “At first, I thought it was outside, but when I went down the hall to the shower, I heard it again and thought it sounded closer. You allow pets?”

  “Not as a rule, but I had no idea they were bringing Mayo along.” Judith stood up. “Damn. That means they’re still here.”

  “Want to give me a quick rundown?”

  Judith sighed. “I don’t know them well,” she admitted, lowering her voice in case the Beard-Smythes were on their way downstairs. “They moved to Heraldsgate Hill several years ago. They had two children, both teenagers, who spent a couple of years at our parochial school before going on to high school. I suppose they’re grown by now. We see them sometimes at church on Sunday morning, but I think they usually go to the Saturday-evening vigil Mass. I gather they’ve been active in some of the fund-raisers, which is more than I can be, other than offering something that doesn’t involve attending the events. I simply don’t have the time.”

  “Understandable,” Addison agreed. “So where does the Beard-Smythe money come from?”

  Judith was stumped. “I’ve no idea.” She gestured to the dining room window that looked out toward the mammoth laurel hedge and the Rankers house. “I’ll get Arlene over here to talk to you. But not until the Beard-Smythes have—”

  She was interrupted by the phone. After hurrying out to the kitchen, she looked at the screen before answering. To her puzzlement, the name showed up as R. J. Smythe. “Yes?” she said, feeling relieved that the couple must have left without being noticed.

  “When is breakfast delivered?” Reggie inquired. “We’ve been up for half an hour. Norma Paine said you started serving at eight.”

  Judith’s temporarily lifted spirits plummeted. “I do. But I serve it in the dining room.”

  Reggie’s next words were indistinct, apparently intended not for Judith but for his wife. A shriek was followed by a spate of not-quite-decipherable words from Alicia.

  “I’m afraid that won’t do,” Reggie said stiltedly. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, correct? Doesn’t that imply that breakfast is served in bed?”

  “No,” Judith snapped. “Have you ever stayed at a B&B before?”

  “Certainly not,” Reggie replied. “When we travel, we stay in five-star hotels unless we’re stranded in a city that has only four-star accommodations. Everyone has to put up with certain inconveniences, especially when traveling abroad.”

  Judith tried to keep her temper in check. “I have a full breakfast waiting for you in the dining room. If you’re hungry, come and get it. Otherwise, try the drive-through at Booger Barn.” Despite her best intentions, she slammed the phone down.

  Addison was leaning against one of the open half doors, coffee mug in hand. “Could that have been the B-S couple in Room Three?”

  “ ‘BS’ is right,” she raged. “I’ll get stiffed for their room and the one they let the dog sleep in. Not to mention the cost of fixing the antique registry stand. I bet Mayo knocked their suitcase down the stairs.”

  “No Christian charity involved, I gather?”

  The mild tone of Addison’s voice didn’t belie what may have been an unintentional barb. “Oh—I thought I was doing them a favor, but I never considered they might not pay me. It was implied that they would when I talked to Norma Paine.”

  Addison strolled into the kitchen. “And who is this Paine?”

  “Another parishioner, whose entire family is staying here tonight—for free.” Judith grimaced. “It was my school auction donation. Now we’re really broke. Joe can’t work while he’s in jail, and I’m getting screwed by what seems like half of my fellow Catholics.”

  Addison chuckled. “Thank God I was raised Methodist. I haven’t been to church in forty years. Except,” he added wistfully, “for Joan’s funeral. She was Episcopalian.”

  “Episcopalians pray for good manners,” Judith stated. “We should adopt that concept. Not to mention more of the other virtues.”

  “Sounds like I’m going to have to stick around unless you can vouch for all those Paines.”

  “I don’t know them,” Judith said. “Norma and her husband, Wilbur, are old-timers, but since their kids grew up, I haven’t a clue about them. You can’t stay the night. They’re taking up all the rooms.”

  “I could sleep with your mother.”

  “Addison!” In spite of herself, Judith laughed. “Are you serious?”

  He nodded. “I want to check out Joe’s office. Okay?”

  “Sure.” She was standing eyeball to eyeball with Addison, hoping he was as trustworthy as he seemed. “Do you think I’ll hear from Joe?”

  “Don’t ask me. I may go down to City Hall later.”

  “I’m going to call Arlene,” Judith said. “Early to bed, early to rise. She may be able to answer some of your questions. And mine.”

  Amid much laughter, Judith could hear Geoff and Cindy Owens coming downstairs.

  “I’m on,” Addison said, putting his coffee mug down on the kitchen counter. “Pretend I’m your waiter.”

  “Quick, check to make sure everything’s still warm on the buffet. I’ll be right there.” Judith reheated the griddle to make fresh pancakes.

  If the British Columbia couple were surprised to see a bearded man welcoming them to breakfast, they didn’t show it. Addison indicated the coffee urn, then asked if they’d prefer tea.

  “Coffee,” Geoff responded. “We’re caffeine fiends.”

  “Got it,” Addison said as
Judith entered the dining room.

  “How many eggs,” she inquired, “and how do you like them?”

  Geoff wanted two, sunny-side up; Cindy requested one, over easy. Judith went back to the kitchen, flipped the pancakes, and started frying eggs. Then she dialed the Rankerses’ number and asked Arlene if she could stop in for a few minutes around nine-thirty.

  “Of course,” Arlene replied. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes,” Judith admitted. “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

  A pause followed at the other end of the phone. “Judith,” Arlene said in an uncharacteristically stern tone, “have you taken a lover?”

  “Huh? Oh! No, of course not. I’ll explain that, too. It has to do with . . . several strange things.”

  “Ah. ‘Strange’ can be enjoyable. See you as soon as I can get Carl out from under the dining room table.” She hung up.

  Addison had come into the kitchen. “Connecting to ABS for the morning report?” he asked Judith.

  “It’s due at nine-thirty. You never gave me the report on Mother. Is she still alive and reciting Molière in the original French?”

  Addison grinned. “She’s reverting to type,” he said quietly. “She wanted to know if I was making unwanted advances on you. I told her I only advanced as far as Room One. She asked if that was like getting to first base. I told her it was more like going to sleep. She sort of snorted and told me that was more than the Seafarers have done the last couple of baseball seasons.” He sobered. “I’ll admit that the baseball team hasn’t been the same since Joaquin Somoza was murdered at Good Cheer Hospital.” His eyes closed briefly. “Neither have I.”

  “I know.” Judith flipped Cindy’s egg before placing half a dozen pancakes on a plate. She offered a sympathetic smile. “Over the years, I sometimes forget about the aftermath of the horrific carnage I’ve encountered. If I stopped to think about it for very long, I’d go crazy.”

  Addison bit his lip. “Wouldn’t we all.”

  He took the plate into the dining room. Judith followed with the eggs and more butter. “Is everything okay?” she inquired of her guests.