Here Comes the Bribe

by Mary Daheim

  “Who’s in here?” Renie asked as Judith led the way into Room Three.

  “Dr. Sophie and Clayton the Blogger.” She paused. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Belle didn’t write something that conveyed her grief over her mother’s death? She did say something to me about how . . . not sad, not tragic, but . . . wrong it was that her mother died so young.”

  “I don’t know,” Renie answered after they entered the room. “People grieve in different ways. Maybe Belle was high when she talked about Millie. Often, when someone who isn’t elderly dies, their loved ones feel it is wrong that the person was taken away before he or she was able to live into old age. Remember how Grandpa Grover always read the obits first in the newspaper?”

  Judith smiled at the recollection. “Yes. If the person—even if he didn’t know the deceased—was younger even by a year, he’d gloat and I say, ‘I managed to outlive that guy.’ It was as if life was a game he was playing and he wanted to triumph over as many people as he could. But if it was someone who’d died much younger, he’d act puzzled, shake his head, and mutter that it wasn’t fair.”

  “He could be gloomy, especially when Uncle Corky and Uncle Al went off to war,” Renie remarked, searching through the closet. “There’s a laptop on the shelf. I assume it’s what Clayton uses for his blogs. Do you want to read any of his blather?”

  “If I do, I’ll check him out on my computer,” Judith replied. “He may have had some comments about what happened to Millie unless he’s doing a series on hyenas.”

  “For a supposedly well-to-do surgeon, Sophie seems to have shopped at Goodwill,” Renie said. “Her taste in clothes is reprehensible.”

  “And your Wisconsin Badgers T-shirt is a fashion statement?” Judith retorted.

  “Knock it off,” Renie shot back. “You know Bill got his undergraduate degree at Wisconsin.”

  Judith opened the last of the dresser drawers. “So far, there isn’t much . . . Ah! A metal box. Now, why would anyone bring a . . . It’s locked.”

  “So? You have a knack for picking locks. Give it a shot.”

  “I can’t.” Judith looked sheepish. “Sophie’s a doctor. It could be patient information. Peeking would be morally wrong.”

  “Are you serious? Since when did ethics get in the way when you’re sleuthing?”

  “Since now,” Judith declared. “There are limits.” Reluctantly, she put the box back in the drawer. “Face it, coz. Sophie may have patients who have questions. She may bring their histories when she travels.”

  “If you’re right, her files may not be hard copies, but on disks or an external hard drive,” Renie said. “That could complicate your snooping.”

  Judith put the box back in the dresser. “That’s not the point. I won’t violate my own brand of professional ethics. Let’s move on.”

  “Your call. Do we access Room Four via the adjoining bathroom?”

  “We might as well. That one belongs to Stuart and Cynthia Wicks. They decided to stay on after all.” Judith opened the bathroom’s second door. “Matching luggage,” she noted, seeing two maroon hardside spinner cases at the foot of the bed. “They look very sturdy. And expensive.”

  “Fairly new, too,” Renie remarked. “No big patches of ugly red tape like Bill put on all of ours so we can spot the luggage after it’s been unloaded. These suitcases are locked, by the way.”

  “Of course,” Judith murmured. There was no closet in Room Four, only a small rack for hanging up clothes. She started searching the bureau. “Nothing. They’ve never unpacked. Let’s hope the Crumps have something of interest in Room Five.”

  But except for Agnes’s prayer book on the nightstand and several kinds of digestive aids, there was little of interest other than a phone number scrawled on a Post-it note.

  “Where’s the 213 area code?” Judith asked.

  “Los Angeles,” Renie replied. “Mainly downtown. The reason I know that is because the Saks store I go to when I’m in L.A. is in Beverly Hills and that’s the 310 area code. Thus 213 would be mainly businesses and government offices. When I go to L.A., I try to never leave Beverly Hills.”

  Judith smirked. “Is that where you bought your Badger T-shirt?”

  Renie sneered. “Ha ha. I bought it when we visited Bill’s relatives in Madison six years ago.”

  “How long has the egg yolk been stuck to that sweatshirt?”

  Renie glanced at her chest. “I’m not sure. Since Thursday, maybe?”

  Judith shook her head in dismay. “When it comes to clothes, you’re two different people. I don’t suppose you know what the 874 prefix would be?”

  “I sure don’t. Do I look like Directory Assistance?”

  “You look like you need assistance,” Judith retorted.

  Renie stuck out her tongue, but didn’t respond. The cousins moved on to Room Six, where the Kindreds were lodged.

  “The rev’s flyers,” Renie said, pointing to a small stack on the dresser. “Elsie’s makeup case. She wears makeup? Then how come she looks so bad?”

  “How do I know?” Judith searched the bureau drawers. “Here’s some sort of kit. Oh, it’s Elsie’s. She’s a nurse, you know.”

  “Didn’t know, don’t care,” Renie responded. “What are you doing? Looking for poison?”

  “Everything seems harmless to me,” Judith replied, putting the kit back in the drawer.

  “I found a Bible,” Renie said. “It belongs to the rev. His name is inscribed in gold leaf on the cover.” She flipped through the pages. “He’s highlighted certain passages from both the Old and the New Testaments. Maybe they’re for his sermons.”

  Judith found nothing else of interest. “We wasted our time,” she mumbled. “An L.A. phone number and Belle’s bad poetry do not advance us in our detection.”

  “Stop going all Sherlock Holmes on me,” Renie said, still flipping through the Bible. “Some of these verses Kindred marked are kind of interesting. How about this one—‘Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.’ At least that explains why Elsie’s so homely despite her makeup.”

  “Not helpful,” Judith said, her hand on the doorknob.

  “Wait—there’s more. ‘In vain, you beautify yourself. Your lovers despise you; they seek your life.’ Does that one grab you?”

  Judith thought for a moment. “A reference to Millie’s project?”

  “Maybe. Here’s ‘The getting of treasures by a lying tongue is a fleeting vapor and a snare of death.’ I like the ‘fleeting vapor’ part. It’s visual. I wonder how I could work it into one of my graphic designs?”

  “Give it up.” Judith opened the door. “Those quotes are no doubt intended for the rev’s preaching.”

  Renie reluctantly closed the Bible. “They all seem to be about vanity and acquiring wealth,” she said as they headed for the back stairs. “Do you really think there’s no connection to what’s going on with the real estate gig?”

  “I can’t see how,” Judith replied. “Kindred seems as caught up in it as the rest of them.” She paused at the foot of the stairs. “Unless the rev isn’t the one who marked those passages. Maybe it was Elsie.”

  “You sense dissension in the Kindred marriage?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Judith admitted, “but I can see why a devout Christian woman wouldn’t approve of mixing religion and moneymaking. That is, other than in support of her husband’s calling. Nor would she be keen on Millie’s alleged female improvement program. That might be why those verses were mainly about vanity and wealth.”

  “I take it you’re convinced Millie was murdered,” Renie said as they entered the kitchen, where Joe was finishing his late lunch.

  “Well . . .” Judith began.

  Joe turned around to look at his wife. “Go ahead, say it. The autopsy showed that Millie was poisoned. I think you’re still batting a thousand when it comes to your homicide average, Jude-girl.”

  Judith wasn’t exactly celebrating the news.
“That’s . . . tragic. Could Millie have committed suicide?”

  “Possibly,” Joe allowed. “An accident is always considered, too.”

  Judith sat down next to Joe. “Did Woody identify the poison?”

  Joe used a napkin to wipe some mayo from his lower lip. “Aconitum. Highly toxic stuff. It works fast and wouldn’t take much to be fatal. It’s been around forever, going back to the Greeks.”

  Renie had also sat down. “The Greeks and the Romans liked taking poison. I assume Millie didn’t. Americans prefer guns to do themselves in. More efficient. But louder.”

  Joe shrugged. “True. Woody’s initial pronouncement is ‘accidental death,’ though he isn’t ruling out homicide or suicide. You know he’s always cautious. He and I agreed we should herd the guests into the parlor and announce his findings to them. Their reactions could be interesting.”

  Renie feigned dismay. “And spoil their trip to the zoo? How crass! Hey, why not put a sign on the buffet for the cocktail hour stating that the appetizers may contain . . . what did you call it? Aconitum? If somebody avoids the cheese puffs or the salmon pâté, you’ll have your killer.”

  “Not funny,” Judith murmured. “I told you, murder isn’t funny.”

  Renie made as if to slap Judith’s arm. “And I told you it is. Laughter over tears has been the Grover mantra. Loosen up. If you tie yourself in a knot, you won’t be able to figure out whodunit.”

  Judith glared at her cousin. “I’m thinking about Ingrid Heffelman’s reaction. I don’t want to lose my innkeeper’s license.”

  Joe put his arm around Judith. “Relax. Woody’s public statement only states that the tragedy occurred at a local hostelry. You’re safe.”

  Judith wasn’t appeased. “Ingrid will immediately suspect Hillside Manor as the hostelry.”

  “Get real,” Joe said. “How many people have died or been killed at local hostelries of all kinds since you last had a corpse on the premises?”

  “Joe’s right,” Renie chimed in. “Think about all the hookers who ply their trade at some of our less savory motels. The AAA on those places stands for Adulterous American Assassination Assignations. Oops! That’s four As. You know I’m poor at math.”

  “Okay, okay,” Judith said in a reluctant voice. “But it’s still upsetting.”

  Joe removed his arm from his wife’s shoulders. “I’m taking the Subaru to get the oil changed. You two keep out of trouble, okay?”

  The phone rang just as he went out through the back door.

  “So,” Mavis Lean-Brodie said to Judith, “we’ve got an autopsy report. What else can you tell me?”

  “Nothing,” Judith replied. “The alleged suspects went to the zoo.”

  “Voluntarily?” Mavis asked. “Or are they part of an exhibit?”

  “They’re tourists. At least most of them are.”

  “Yes,” Mavis said, sounding amused. “I’m aware that the victim and his wife recently bought a house in Sunset Cliffs. If memory serves, you were involved in a murder investigation there several years ago.”

  Judith stiffened, causing Renie to stare at her. “Yes, Mavis, the gated community of Sunset Cliffs,” she said for her cousin’s enlightenment. “I hope they didn’t buy that gruesome estate known as Creepers. That old mansion lived up to its name.”

  “No, they bought a twenty-two-room contemporary for a mere fifteen million. No water or mountain view, though. But it makes a person wonder why they didn’t invite their California chums to stay there with them, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” Judith agreed. “But if you think I know why they came here instead, I don’t.”

  “Maybe they didn’t want the rest of your guests on their own expensive turf for a reason,” Mavis suggested. “I have friends in high places—such as the owners of KINE-TV, who also live in Sunset Cliffs. I think maybe I’ll pay them a call and take a look at the Schmuck property. Perhaps I’ll get chummy with a neighbor or two.”

  “You will report back to me, won’t you?”

  “Of course. I am a TV reporter, thus I report. I may do that this afternoon, unless a big story breaks. Stay tuned.” Mavis rang off.

  Renie was looking irked. “Why didn’t I listen in on the living room extension? Now you have to pass on whatever Mavis had to say.”

  Judith summed up what the anchorwoman had told her. “Oddly enough,” she added, “after I found out that Millie and Rodney had moved here a short time ago, it never occurred to me to wonder why they stayed at Hillside Manor instead of at their own home. I guess I thought they were staying at a residence inn or some such place while they house-hunted.”

  “Maybe they hadn’t furnished it yet,” Renie said.

  “That’s possible. With over twenty rooms, that’d take some time.” She frowned. “Or maybe we’re overlooking the obvious. If buying up the cul-de-sac was their aim, then they had to stay here.”

  Renie nodded. “Still, the whole thing is kind of theatrical. Has Rodney stopped calling you Mama?”

  “I haven’t seen him today. He didn’t come down for breakfast, but he went to the zoo with the rest of them.” Judith was silent for a moment or two. “I’m curious about that L.A. phone number. I know the area code is 213, but do you remember the prefix?”

  “Yes,” Renie replied, digging into her huge purse and getting out her cell phone. “I may not do math, but I’m a wizard with phone numbers. Watch me.”

  She tapped in the required eleven digits. Her smug expression changed when the call was answered. “Yes,” she said, “which section have I reached? I wasn’t sure of the extension.” Her brown eyes widened. “Oh, I meant to dial the dementia unit. Thanks, but I’ll call later. I think I hear a burglar trying to break in.”

  “Well?” Judith said after Renie disconnected.

  Her cousin’s face was bleak. “It’s the Los Angeles County Department of Mental Health. That was the extension for public guardians and committing people to asylums. Now I wish I hadn’t asked.”

  Judith wished the same thing.

  Chapter 15

  Judith was startled. “Could the rev—or Mrs. Rev—be trying to get a guardianship of Rodney? Or worse yet, to have him committed?”

  “Rodney does leap to mind,” Renie replied. “But with this bunch, it could be any of them. Heck, it could be all of them.”

  “I wonder . . .” She stopped.

  “What?”

  “We assume Belle is the Schmucks’ only child. What if that’s not the case?”

  Renie made a face. “Isn’t one enough since it’s Weedbella?”

  “Our parents obviously thought one was enough, since we’re both only children,” Judith said. “Granted, it’s odd that any siblings wouldn’t be included in the wedding party, but maybe there’s one in grad school or living abroad or who is estranged from the rest of the family.”

  “Maybe such a sibling isn’t as strange as the rest of them,” Renie suggested. “But does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t, I suppose,” Judith conceded. “Damn, coz, I feel as if I don’t have a grip on these people or this whole murder investigation. Maybe I am too old to sleuth.”

  “That’s dumb,” Renie declared. “The problem is the people involved. They’re kind of unreal.”

  “True.” Judith stood up. “I’m antsy. Let’s go to the zoo.”

  Renie’s jaw dropped. “Are you insane?”

  “No. I’d like to know if that’s where they really went. Even normal guests rarely go to the zoo. There’s too much else to see around here.”

  “Fine. Take a cab.” Renie crossed her arms and assumed her most mulish expression. “How can you tell if they’re at the zoo? Do you know what kind of cars they rented? Could you distinguish them from the animals? Or do you think they’re going to make an offer on the entire park area and turn it into one big residential development?”

  Judith sank down slowly in her chair. “That’s not all that goofy an idea. Not the zoo,” she added hastily, “but that the
y’re trying to find another parcel of land for condos. Property around the zoo isn’t as expensive as it is here on the hill.”

  Renie uncrossed her arms and smiled. “Your customary logic has reasserted itself.”

  “I still feel as if I should be doing something,” Judith said. “Except a phone number to L.A. County Mental Health and some Bible verses, we came up empty.”

  “You could check out some of Clayton’s blogs,” Renie suggested facetiously.

  “Maybe I should,” Judith said. “What would I do? Just put in his name and see what comes up?”

  “Oh, good lord, I didn’t mean . . .” But Renie knew better than to try to dissuade her cousin when she was in sleuthing mode. “Then do it. I’ll take a nap. As for finding whatever bilge he writes, I have no idea how to look up a blogger.”

  Judith went over to the computer and typed in Clayton Ormsby. “Don’t you want to see what showed up?” she asked.

  “Not really,” Renie replied. “Condense it for me. Like two, three words.”

  “He’s got a website,” Judith announced.

  “Big deal. Who doesn’t? You and I both have websites that I designed. They’re necessary for doing business these days.”

  “Clayton calls himself ‘A World-Class Act.’ What does that mean?”

  “That he’s an idiot?”

  “It’s his bio,” Judith said. “He was born in Lompoc, California, the Flower Seed Capital of the World. Where is that?”

  “North of Los Angeles, toward the coast. I’m getting bored already.”

  “You have the attention span of a gnat,” Judith declared. “Married Sophie Kilmore in 1988. Apparently no children.”

  “For that we can be grateful,” Renie said. “Cut to the chase. Find one of his blogs and make it interesting or I’m taking my empty Pepsi can and going home.”

  “You are a pill.” Judith clicked on BLOGS. “Wow. There are a ton of them. They’re listed alphabetically by topic, not date.”

  “If you can’t find a blog called ‘Poison,’ pick one in the middle, starting with M. I always do that when I’m confronted with stuff that’s alphabetized. Usually what I’m looking for is toward the end of the alphabet, not the beginning. I don’t know why.”