by Mary Daheim
Chapter Ten
Judith’s jaw dropped. Addison froze in the kitchen chair. Arlene was taken aback by their reactions. “What did I say? For all I know, Cindy is a Canadian. Maybe she became a citizen when she married . . . Geoff, isn’t it?”
Judith was the first to regain her voice. “It’s not that. But there was another guest registered here last night, who gave her name as Jean Rogers. She checked in, but left without notice only a few hours after she arrived. Then another woman contacted me to say she was Jean Rogers. Except she wasn’t. Where is the Jean Rogers you knew at Donner & Blitzen?”
“In Phoenix,” Arlene replied. “She moved there a year or so ago. I heard from her at Christmas. Her husband, Clark, was quite a bit older. He retired and liked to winter in Arizona. I wanted to ask Cindy how her mother was doing, but Phyliss showed up. I knew you didn’t want her creating a diversion trying to save people, so I dragged her into the pantry to save you from her. Frankly, I don’t know if Cindy would recall who I was. I only saw her two or three times when she was still in grade school. Jean would bring her into the store to see Santa Claus. But why are there so many Jeans? That makes no sense.”
Addison agreed. “But the fact that it makes no sense is important. We just don’t know how to put it all together.” He looked across the table at Judith. “Any ideas?”
Judith shook her head. “If anything, I’m more confused than I was in the beginning. Can we be sure that Geoff and Cindy are from B.C.?”
“We could check through Canadian and U.S. Customs and Immigration,” Addison suggested. “They might know if they crossed the border in the past few days. Security is much tighter since 9/11.”
“Don’t bother,” Arlene said. “Jean wrote to me about her daughter getting married and moving to Canada. Drat! I should have paid no attention to Phyliss and talked to Cindy instead. What was I thinking of?” Her blue eyes widened as she got out of her chair. “Carl! That’s what I was thinking of! His back went out after he brought the ladder over here. The Beard-Smythes should’ve called you to let them out if their door wouldn’t unlock.” Arlene was halfway down the hall. “They may be rich, but they aren’t smart,” she called over her shoulder.
Addison stood up. “I’m going down to City Hall. To think I thought everybody working there was nuts.” He shook his head.
“Good idea,” Judith said. “I almost wish I were in jail with Joe.”
Addison shot Judith an ironic glance. “Be careful what you wish for.” He rinsed out his coffee mug. “How about marrying me instead?”
Judith thought she hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”
He waved a hand at her. “I don’t mean for real—just for tonight.”
“I . . .” Startled, Judith wondered if she really was gaga. “Uh . . .”
“Relax.” He grinned. “These Paines don’t know you, right? Thus they don’t know Joe. Like you, Arlene doesn’t seem to know much about the second and third generations. I never got a chance to quiz her closely. I can pretend I’m your devoted spouse and help you entertain the guests while wheedling all sorts of information out of them and going through their wallets when they’re not looking. Isn’t that what Joe would do if he were here with a houseful of nonpaying guests?”
Judith put a hand to her breast. “You scared me for a minute. No—Joe usually keeps clear of the guests. Especially this bunch. He’d hide upstairs in front of the TV and pretend we’d never met.”
“The Paines don’t know that,” Addison said, heading out of the kitchen. “Besides, I’m in love with another woman.”
“Huh? Who?”
“Let me know if Carl got out from under the dining room table. If he didn’t, Arlene is mine.”
Look,” Renie said into the phone, “I know it’s ten-thirty and I’m supposed to be awake, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Either we have a bad connection or I need to go back to bed.”
Judith sighed. “I realize it’s confusing. I’m trying to convince you that I need your help for the dinner after all, if only to bounce ideas off of you and get your impression of the Paines. When do you think you could come? That is, if you can do it.”
“Um . . . I suppose around four?”
“Not any sooner?”
“I have to finish some preliminary sketches,” Renie said. “Bill’s doing the Friday grocery run. Has that man ever used a coupon? Has he ever checked out a sale? What doesn’t he understand about ‘buy one, get one free’? Has he ever met a seven-dollar French pastry he didn’t like? No wonder we spend two hundred bucks a week on groceries.”
“Yes. I mean no.” Judith paused. “Three?”
“Three what?”
“Three o’clock. The Paines arrive between five-thirty and six. We need time to talk. Besides, Addison is going to help.”
“He’s still hanging around? Doesn’t he have a beat to cover?”
“That’s what he’s doing—and why I have to talk to you in person.”
“I’ll try,” Renie said, sounding resigned. “Let me finish my sketches in peace. How the hell do I put a hula skirt on an energy-saving lightbulb?”
“Gee, I wish that was all I had worrying me.” Her tone was wistful. “As Grandma Grover used to say, I’ll look for you when I see you.”
“Hey—what about Joe?” Renie asked. “Can Bill see him during visiting hours?”
“I’ll know more when Addison gets back from City Hall,” Judith said. “Maybe it’s good that the Paines are coming. It’ll keep me busy instead of driving myself crazy by having too much time to think.”
“You know perfectly well that Joe’s fine,” Renie asserted. “In fact, I’ll bet he’s enjoying himself.”
“That,” Judith said, “is what worries me most.”
Given what had gone on during the past twenty-four hours, the rest of the morning and early afternoon were quiet at Hillside Manor. Gertrude had been picked up by one of her bridge-playing friends and wouldn’t return until four. Phyliss had complained only a half-dozen times about Arlene’s biblical interpretations. Sweetums had been in and out of the house, either missing Gertrude’s company or disliking the steady, if not heavy, rain.
Aside from forcing herself to keep from calling someone at the city jail and asking about Joe, Judith’s biggest concern was accommodating the Paine family’s dietary restrictions. She decided to stick with a buffet supper. Renie could make labels listing the ingredients of each dish—or she could staple signs to the guests, naming their personal poison.
By three-thirty, Phyliss had left for an appointment with her chiropodist, Addison hadn’t reported back, and Renie called to say that she was on her way. If Judith needed anything, she could stop off on top of the hill and get it.
“No,” Judith said, slicing tomatoes while holding the phone under her chin. “I think I’m good. Thanks, though. Oh! Wait. Maybe tofu?”
“Oh my God!” Renie cried. “You have gone crazy! What are you going to do with it? Wash the car?”
“I’ve got a vegan or two,” Judith said. “Don’t they eat tofu?”
“Gack. For all I know, you can make Popsicles out of the stuff. See you as soon as I overcome the gagging factor.” Renie hung up.
Judith went online, searching for tofu recipes. By the time she’d found a couple that sounded easy to prepare, Renie arrived. “Here,” she said, handing over a Falstaff’s bag. “It looks like a sponge.”
Judith removed the package. “It is a sponge!” she exclaimed. “That’s not funny.”
“Oops. Wrong bag. Be right back.” Renie grabbed the sponge from Judith and went out the back door.
Judith collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs and held her head. The preparations were getting off to a bad start. Maybe asking Renie to help wasn’t smart. Her cousin was a sport about doing things she didn’t really want to do, but out of sheer perversi
ty, she often managed to make everybody else miserable in the process. Judith returned to her task of figuring out how to make a tofu scramble for the breakfast included in the auction offering.
“Sorry about that,” Renie said breathlessly. “Bill wanted a new sponge for the upstairs bathroom.”
“Fine,” Judith said unenthusiastically. “What’s he doing for dinner before he goes to the basketball game with Uncle Al?”
Renie had hung her jacket on a peg in the hall. “They’re getting hot dogs before they go to their seats.”
Judith began spraying cooking oil on a big baking dish. “By the way, now that Joe’s temporarily out of commission, what’s going to happen with Bill’s stalking-victim patient?”
“No idea,” Renie said. “Want me to trim the asparagus? The ends are too thick for human consumption.”
“Go ahead. I’m going to steam them.” She took two large packages of chicken breasts out of the fridge. “I keep thinking Joe’s either going to call me or walk through the back door. You’ve no idea how frustrated I am with this whole mess.”
“I do, actually,” Renie said, slicing off an inch or more of the asparagus spears. “But you know he’s safe. He has the police for company, and probably Woody’s there most of the time. I think you’re more curious than worried.”
Judith considered the suggestion. “Maybe. But it’s still unnerving, especially with the weird stuff that’s been going on here.”
“As far as I can tell from what you told me on the phone, the only really weird thing is the Jean Rogers duplications. For all you know, somebody’s writing an article on credit-card theft and experimenting to see how far you can go without getting caught.”
“That doesn’t explain why Joe told me to find a gun that wasn’t supposed to be where he said it was.”
“Obviously, you were supposed to find something else.”
“No luck. Addison said he’d help look in case Joe has anything connected to his newspaper story. I wonder what’s taking him so long.”
Renie had gotten out the big steamer kettle and was filling it with water. “You mean Addison? They’re short-staffed at the paper these days. I imagine he has other stories to cover besides the elusive corruption angle. He may have deadlines.”
“True. I tend to focus only on what affects Joe.” Judith had gone back to the computer. “Now that I’ve got tofu, I can’t figure out what to do with it. Except for the breakfast scramble, so many of these recipes call for other ingredients that the dietary-challenged Paines can’t eat.”
“You could stick some artificial flowers in it and use it for a centerpiece,” Renie suggested.
“Thanks. You’re a big help. Oh, wait—here’s something. Lemon-baked tofu. And another one, sweet and spicy tofu nuggets.”
“Gack.”
Judith glared at her cousin. “Have you ever eaten tofu?”
“No, nor have I eaten an S.O.S. Pad or a bar of soap. So what?”
“So I’ll do the sweet and spicy one first. It has to marinate.”
“In what? Pennzoil?”
“Stop. Fix us drinks. Do something to keep me from killing you.”
“Good idea,” Renie said cheerfully. “By the way, have you got a list of the Paines so we know who’s who, or do I have to make name tags?”
Judith had her hands full of lemon juice, soy sauce, and olive-oil bottles. “That’s a good idea. I put their names on the bulletin board by the swinging doors.”
“Okay.” Renie had gotten out the Scotch and the bourbon. “By the way, did you find anything interesting when you were going through Joe’s safe?”
Judith shook her head. “The only odd thing was a Post-it note with ‘SF OR LA’ printed on it. I assume it must’ve gotten stuck to something else. I’d never have seen it if it hadn’t fallen on the floor.”
“The letters don’t mean anything to you?”
Judith shook her head. “Only the obvious—San Francisco or Los Angeles. Maybe Oregon, too. Places that pertain to some of his cases and could be from a long time ago. Often he gives me the bare bones, but,” she went on, removing a jar of Dijon mustard from the fridge, “like Bill, he has to worry about client confidentiality.”
Renie nodded. “And snoopy wives like us.” She’d poured out the drinks and set Judith’s down next to the marinade bowl. “What can I use to make name tags?”
“Look in that drawer to the right of the sink. I keep a bunch of blank clip-on tags in there from the days when Arlene and I used to cater events,” Judith said, wielding a wire whisk. “Every so often, I get some guests who want to wear name tags for the social hour.”
“Bill refuses to wear a name tag. So does Oscar. He doesn’t like anything pinned to his fur. Oscar, I mean. Good grief,” Renie said, making a face as she opened the drawer, “your junk pile is worse than mine. Have you cleaned this out since you moved back home? Here’s a newspaper clipping about Nixon’s resignation in 1974. Who drew the horns on his picture?”
“Mother,” Judith said. “In 1974, I was working at the Thurlow Public Library by day and hustling drinks at the Meat & Mingle at night.”
“Hustling drinks or hustling drunks?”
“Both. At least it felt like I was,” Judith said, after taking a sip of her Scotch-rocks. “I spent most of my time keeping an eye on the cash register. Dan’s hired help had a tendency to loot the premises.”
“The bad old days,” Renie remarked, sitting down at the kitchen table with the name tags and the list of Paine attendees. “Gosh, I don’t remember any of the Paine bunch except Hannah, and now that I think about it, she was three or four years ahead of Tony. Big girl, like her Amazonian mother. She fell down on top of Mugs Rankers—I should say Meagan now that she’s a wife and mother—and they practically had to use a forklift to get Hannah off of her before she suffocated.”
“Hannah sounds like a match for Kristin,” Judith said, and immediately regretted the unkind words about her daughter-in-law. “Sorry. I still haven’t quite recovered from Kristin telling me I’m a doormat and need to improve my self-esteem.”
“Not to worry,” Renie said, taking a green pen out of her purse. “At Christmas, I told her if she ever mouthed off to you like that again, I’d rearrange her dental work. I may be small, but I’m cunning.”
“You are, alas,” Judith allowed, “but I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“Why not? What else is Christmas for? Family, friends, friction.”
“So Hannah is married to somebody named Zachary Conrad,” Renie said, studying the guest list. “I know that name. The gas company? No, Conrad works for the city’s lighting department. In fact, that project I’m doing for their retired employees had his name attached as one of the execs who has to okay my final design.” She made a face. “I’ve never met him. Quick, I need an assumed name. Want to call me Rita?”
“I really don’t,” Judith said. “Why do you care?”
“Because,” Renie pointed out quite seriously, “the higher the echelon of management, the bigger the ego and the smaller the brain. That’s true of most corporations, and it may be worse with civil servants, which is what Zachary Conrad is. He played basketball at the University, went into the pros for a couple of years, but hardly ever got off the bench. Still, he was able to get on with the city and rose through the ranks, which may or may not mean he’s competent. Even if he’s a genius, he’ll carp at every little thing that requires his approval to show he has input, and thus an actual intellect. I’ve never met him, but I may have to. I don’t want him thinking of me as the middle-aged moron dishing up Tofu Doodoo in the kitchen. Besides, I’m not wearing my professional wardrobe, which is very different from what I have on now.”
“It sure is,” Judith murmured, gazing at her cousin’s rumpled green sweatshirt from Lefty O’Doul’s bar in San Francisco. “You might consider combing your hair.
”
Renie shot Judith a disgusted look. “Why? I’m not posing for a portrait. In fact, I’m not going to sort out these Paines either. They can slap their stupid tags on and we’ll play it by ear. I wouldn’t recognize any of these goofballs if they fell in my birdbath.”
Judith shrugged. “Fine. I just want to get this over with.” She glanced at the schoolhouse clock, which showed that it was two minutes after five. “When you finish those name tags, would you call Woody?”
Renie scrunched up a name tag that she’d lettered imperfectly. “Why me? It’s your husband who’s in the slammer.”
“You bond with Woody. I don’t want to be a pest.”
“Ooh . . .” Renie finished the last two Paines and stood up. “Okay.”
Judith nodded toward the bulletin board. “Woody’s new work number is pinned up there.”
Renie grabbed the phone, checked the scribbled notation, and dialed. “He’s not answering.” she said, disconnecting. “I’m not leaving a message. He’s probably gone home.”
“Drat.” Judith was placing puff-pastry shells on a baking sheet. “This is so wrong.” She all but yanked the oven door off its hinges. “If Joe’s sitting on his dead butt at city expense helping solve crimes, it’s mean of him to leave me in the lurch.”
Renie’s face was bland. “Yes, it’s odd that the police would ask for help from a retired detective who is also a licensed private investigator. What are they thinking of?” She made an inept attempt at snapping her fingers. “Wait! I’ve got it! They should hire a rank amateur instead!”
“Not funny,” Judith huffed. “I don’t mean that, I—” The doorbell interrupted her. “Damn,” she muttered. “It can’t be the guests.”
“I’ll answer it,” Renie offered.
“No, I will,” Judith said, nudging her cousin out of the way. “I’m not a walking advertisement for getting loaded.”
