by Mary Daheim
“Don’t bug him,” Renie cautioned. “He’ll let you know if he sends a detective to question the loonies. Frankly, I’d try to forget about the Schmucks. I’ll bet the Californians are heading back to L.A.”
Judith gave her cousin a sheepish look as she handed her a plate with a sandwich and potato chips. “That may be so, but it’s why I can’t help dwelling on them. I worry about what will happen to Rodney.”
“Sheesh.” Renie rolled her eyes. “Hey, you’re really not his mother.”
“I know,” Judith said, making an egg salad sandwich for herself, “but he’s so vulnerable. What if they really do plan to commit him? Maybe one of that bunch is applying for a guardianship or else they’re talking him into voluntary commitment.”
“That’s not your problem,” Renie declared before taking a giant bite out of her sandwich.
Judith sat down across from her cousin. “You’re the one who suggested Rodney might not be drinking as much as it appears. What if he’s being drugged?”
Renie started to argue, but frowned instead. “I guess you can’t put much past his so-called pals. They have access to drugs—a doctor, a nurse, not to mention Clark and Belle with their dealer connections. Weed may not be the only funny stuff those two do for recreation.”
“I hate to think Belle might be in on a conspiracy against her own father,” Judith said. “She’s so spacey that I can’t get a handle on her.”
“How upset was Belle over her mother’s death?” Renie asked.
Judith considered the question. “At first, she couldn’t believe what I was trying to tell her. Then, when she realized that Millie was in fact dead, she burst into tears. Later, she talked about her mother being too young to die, which, of course, she was. Much of the time Belle wasn’t quite planted firmly on the ground. You saw her poem with the allusion to the cloud that my mother dreamed up in her phony séance.”
Renie laughed. “I’d like to have sat in on that.”
Judith remained serious. “I wish I had. It might’ve revealed a lot of things about the guests. Do you know anyone who lives in Sunset Cliffs?”
“Not offhand,” Renie replied, wiping butter off of her short chin. “I’ve done some design work for CEOs who might . . .” She stopped and narrowed her eyes at Judith. “Are you looking for an entrée into the gated community? What about the family at Creepers where we got stuck with another corpse?”
“I don’t know if any of them are still around,” Judith replied. “After all the awful things that happened there, they might’ve moved away. Surely you must have a connection to somebody who lives there.”
Renie looked mulish. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re lying.”
Renie chewed on several potato chips. “Tevah Boy, mehba.”
Judith managed to translate what her cousin said through a mouthful of food. “Trevor Boyd—from Key Largo Bank?”
Renie nodded—and swallowed. “Right. But we aren’t exactly close. I designed the bank’s calendar two years ago in exchange for wiping out my nine-hundred-dollar overdraft. How was I supposed to know what I had in my account? I’d been Christmas shopping.”
“You can’t balance your checkbook when it’s Arbor Day,” Judith said.
Renie wrinkled her pug nose. “When is Arbor Day? I forget.”
“Never mind. Let me think—what excuse could you give for calling on the Boyds?”
Renie gazed up at the ceiling. “My mind’s a blank.”
“Come on, coz,” Judith coaxed. “You don’t have to actually go see him, we just need an excuse to get inside the Sunset Cliffs gate.”
“Boyd wouldn’t be home during the day anyway,” Renie said, holding her head. “Okay, Mrs. Boyd . . . Have I ever met her? I forget. Oh, right, I had to go to the bank’s Christmas cocktail party, where the new calendars were handed out instead of bonuses. Boyd’s kind of cheap. Mrs. Boyd has corns. I remember she had to take off her shoes right after her fifth kamikaze. We can be her new podiatrist or some damned thing. I mean, I can be the podiatrist. You’re my assistant.”
“Do podiatrists usually have assistants?” Judith asked.
“They do now,” Renie replied. “You’re it. Maybe I should use a phony name. Do you remember Dr. Foot? He was Grandma and Grandpa Grover’s dentist. I always wondered why he wasn’t a podiatrist.”
Judith felt a headache coming on again. Sometimes her cousin had that effect on her. “Are you done eating?”
“Unless you’ve got dessert,” Renie replied.
“You don’t usually eat dessert,” Judith said.
“I do if you have pie. Remember how my dad always asked my mom, ‘What kind of apple pie have you got?’ It was his favorite.” Renie stood up. “Never mind. We should go now in case Bill needs the Camry after his walk.”
After checking in with Gertrude, the cousins headed north to Sunset Cliffs. The drizzle had stopped and the sun was flirting with the clouds as the two women avoided the always busy freeway and kept to side streets. Their destination lay just beyond the city limits, overlooking the Sound.
“You,” Renie said, glancing at Judith, “should be telling the lie to the guard. I don’t do as well at that sort of thing.”
“I suppose I could lean over to talk to him if you want to pretend you’re mute.”
Renie turned off by the golf course, slowing down as they approached the woodsy entrance shielding Sunset Cliffs from prying eyes. The guard stepped out of his booth. He looked as if he was barely old enough to vote, let alone confront troublesome visitors.
“Hi,” Renie said in a bright voice. “We’re here to see Rodney Schmuck at Heaven’s Gate. My cousin and I want to make sure they’re getting settled in, since they only arrived this morning. Rodney drinks, you know, and he doesn’t always know what’s going on.”
To Judith’s amazement, the guard opened the gate and waved them inside. “I don’t believe it,” she gasped. “How did that happen?”
“Sometimes telling the truth actually works,” Renie replied. “Now, how do we figure out where Heaven’s Gate is located? This is a huge property and most of the houses are tucked away from the road.”
“I remember that. The mailboxes are up ahead,” Judith said. “Maybe we can figure it out from the addresses. Or do they have addresses? As I recall, they’re too discreet for anything so intrusive.”
“You’re right,” Renie agreed. “We’ll have to drive around until we see two cars that look like their rentals. Do you know what they had besides the Honda?”
“A silver Nissan—I think,” Judith said.
“Close enough,” Renie murmured. “Unless they put the cars in the garage.”
“Don’t ask for trouble,” Judith said as they pulled up by the mailboxes.
Renie got out to have a look. “Just names. Darn. There’s a blank box. I’ll bet that belongs to the Schmucks. Hey—these suckers aren’t locked. Let me see if Rodney and company have any mail.”
Judith started to protest, but reconsidered. “Well?” she inquired as her cousin sorted through what looked like mostly circulars and junk mail. “Anything of interest?”
“A couple of bank statements from California,” Renie answered. “A county utility bill. Something from an L.A. doctor’s office. Maybe that’s a bill, too.” She shoved the mail back in the box and got back behind the wheel. “No clue where the house is, though.”
“We’ll find it,” Judith said as she spotted a big colonial with a tasteful sign on the lawn that read FARQUHAR’S FARM. “Some farm. What do they raise? Hundred-dollar bills?”
“Rich people don’t use real money,” Renie declared. “It’s too vulgar.”
After ten minutes, it seemed to Judith that they were going in circles as they wound around the narrow road, uphill and down, an occasional elegant mansion in the distance, a glimpse of the Sound and the snow-covered mountains beyond.
“Remember,” Judith said, “we’re looking for a fairly modern house.”
“Most of these homes are more traditional,” Renie pointed out as a pair of chipmunks scampered across the road in front of them.
“I feel as if we’re lost,” Judith complained after another five minutes had passed. “Have you any idea where we are?”
“Still in the USA,” Renie replied. “Or not. That house on the hill looks like a French château. Maybe we should’ve brought our passports.”
But a moment later Judith saw what appeared to be the blue Honda. “There’s another car in front of it in the drive. Yes, it’s the Nissan. But I can’t see much of the house from here.”
Renie reversed enough to turn off of the road. “Shall I drive up to where those cars are parked or do we arrive by stealth?”
“We’re not burglars,” Judith asserted. “Go ahead and pull in.”
As they approached the parked cars, the large, rambling house became more visible. “It looks like a ranch house on steroids,” Renie remarked. “Whoever built it should’ve had their architect committed.”
“Maybe that’s why somebody was calling the L.A. County Department of Mental Health,” Judith said.
Wide concrete steps led up to the front porch, which was surprisingly small given the size of the house. A large picture window was at the right of the front door, but the drapes were closed. Renie used the sleek brass ring that served as a knocker.
“Listen,” she said in a low voice. “It set off chimes.”
Judith leaned closer. “Not very melodious, just a few notes,” she murmured.
“It’s the Fate motif from Carmen,” Renie whispered. “The previous owners must’ve been opera buffs.”
Elsie Kindred opened the door. “Mrs. Flynn!” she exclaimed. “What a surprise. We were expecting the fumigator.” Her eyes darted to Renie. “Is she it? I mean . . .” Elsie grimaced.
“I’m the podiatrist,” Renie declared. “But never mind that now. How’s Rodney?”
“He’s resting,” Elsie replied, looking ill at ease. “The poor man is utterly worn out from the trauma of losing his wife. George was praying with him, but Rodney nodded off. I’d ask you in, but everything is in such a muddle. Dear Millie—rest her soul—hadn’t yet finished furnishing all of the rooms.”
Judith moved a step closer and put a hand on Elsie’s arm. “I was so sorry you all left without giving me a chance to say good-bye. Did Clark get his wallet back? I’ve been worried about him. I hope his money and credit cards were all there.”
Elsie frowned. “I have no idea. Clark and Belle were in the other car. We all got here within a few minutes of each other, though.”
“Would you mind if we came in so I could talk to Clark?” Judith asked in her warmest tone.
“Ah . . .” Elsie darted a glance over to her right. “Clark has joined some of the others in the sitting room for prayer with my husband. Perhaps I could have Clark call you when you get home.”
“Oh.” Judith’s expression conveyed deep disappointment. “But I so much wanted to say good-bye to Rodney. I feel just terrible about having Millie die at my inn. I’ve never had such a terrible thing happen to me. It weighs on my conscience. I’m sure the reverend would understand.”
Elsie’s round face expressed mixed emotions. “My, I don’t know what to say. I can’t interrupt the prayer service, you see. It may be a while because they only began to pray a few minutes ago.”
“That’s all right,” Judith said, putting one foot on the threshold. “We’re in no hurry. Since you all left without any notice, I may not have any guests coming this evening and . . .” She stopped and bit her lip.
Renie put a hand on Judith’s arm. “It’s a financial hardship for my cousin. She depends on having the B&B occupied every night of the year to make ends meet. She supports her aged mother, you know. I believe you met Mrs. Grover at the séance.”
“Oh, yes, of course!” Elsie exclaimed. “Mrs. Grover is very gifted. She told us that my husband would someday become the second Martin Luther. Or,” she said suddenly, frowning, “was it Martin Luther King? But wouldn’t George have to change color?”
“All things are possible with God,” Renie declared solemnly.
Elsie still seemed puzzled. Judith took advantage of the minister’s wife’s uncertainty to squeeze past her and go inside. “If we could wait until everyone finishes praying . . . it would make me feel so much better to have a word with Rodney in particular, though I don’t like to disturb his rest. All of you went through a harrowing experience under my roof.”
Elsie nodded vaguely. “Please make yourselves comfortable in the drawing room,” she said somewhat timorously. “Would you like a cup of hot tea?”
“That would be wonderful,” Judith said with a smile. “Traffic was busy this afternoon. My nerves are frayed.”
Elsie nodded and disappeared via the hall.
“Sheesh,” Renie muttered, flopping onto an orchid-damask settee. “Who furnished this room? Everything looks like it came out of the back end of the warehouse. It’s beyond eclectic, it’s a symptom of decor madness.”
Judith’s eyes roamed over her surroundings. Modern, Victorian Provincial, and a few odd-lot pieces that might have come out of the Great Depression littered the room. “I thought I had some diverse items. Of course I inherited most of Grandma and Grandpa Grover’s furniture.”
“It suits your house,” Renie asserted. “This stuff doesn’t fit even a poorly designed ranch house. I wonder if they brought it from L.A.—or Goodwill.”
Judith stood up. “Stay put. I’m going to eavesdrop.”
“Don’t,” Renie urged, also getting to her feet. “You’ll have to bend way down to listen at the keyhole. If there is a keyhole. I’ll do it.” She hurried off across the hall.
Judith tried to relax, but the mohair armchair felt lumpy. After a minute or so had passed, Renie returned, grinning.
“They’re not praying,” she announced. “They’re playing—bingo. I heard two winners shout at the same time. Is that Agnes’s idea? She’s the only Catholic and heaven knows we love our bingo.”
Judith laughed. “Could be. It’s a wonder they didn’t try a séance.”
“I wonder if the reverend is playing,” Renie said, sitting down. “It might be against his religion.”
Judith started to speak, but heard voices. “The games must be over,” she whispered, trying to glimpse her ex-guests.
A moment later, Stuart Wicks sauntered into the drawing room. He paused in midstep when he saw the cousins. “My word,” he said in a disapproving tone, “what are you two doing here?”
“We just happened to be in the neighborhood,” Renie replied. “We have old friends in Sunset Cliffs.”
“They don’t live in Heaven’s Gate,” Stuart snapped.
Judith thought it best to intervene. “We felt remiss at not saying good-bye to you and the others, especially Rodney. He worries me.”
Stuart shrugged. “Rodney is not to be worried about. He drinks, therefore he’s fine.”
“Nobody who drinks to excess is fine,” Judith asserted. “Have any of you and his other friends tried an intervention?”
“Neither my wife nor I believe in meddling in other people’s affairs,” Stuart declared with a lift of his sharp chin.
“But,” Judith said, “Cynthia is a family counselor. Surely she’s concerned about Rodney’s reliance on alcohol. Your wife must feel duty-bound to help him. Unless,” she added, “it’s only Millie’s death that has temporarily unhinged her husband.”
Stuart sneered. “You’re meddling. I must ask you to leave.”
Renie stood up. “Gladly. There’s a noxious air in this dump and I don’t think it has anything to do with booze. Come on, coz, let’s get out of here and call the cops.”
“I beg your pardon!” Stuart shouted. “On what grounds? I’m an attorney, remember?”
“We can’t forget,” Renie shot back. “So what? I’m a podiatrist.”
The cousins made their exit, leaving an uncharacteri
stically bewildered Stuart Wicks behind them.
Chapter 18
That,” Judith declared as they got into the Camry, “was not our finest hour.”
“Can’t win ’em all,” Renie muttered. “Stuart may be the biggest jackass in the bunch.”
“He’s not a likable guy,” Judith conceded. “You know, I think you’re right about Rodney. Yes, he may drink too much, but someone—maybe several someones—may be keeping him drugged. But to what purpose?”
“Money?” Renie responded as they reached the main road. “That’s the usual reason.”
Judith nodded. “They may try to convince him he should sign everything over to Belle. Then, given his daughter’s space-case history, they’ll fleece her. Of course, if she marries Clark, she’ll become Cynthia and Stuart’s daughter-in-law. That’s a frightening scenario.”
“I’ll bet that was the original plan,” Renie said, driving much faster than Sunset Cliffs’ twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit. “But Millie dies and the wedding’s postponed. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Wicks are afraid Belle will back out at the last minute.”
“You don’t think she’s in love with Clark?”
“I don’t know,” Renie admitted. “They seem like a real couple. But they’re young and they might decide to live together. I get the impression they’ve been doing that all along or they wouldn’t have shared the same bed at the B&B. If Belle would stop puffing the funny stuff, she might wise up and tell her would-be in-laws to take a hike.”
“Young people these days have—slow down! There’s someone . . .” Judith held her breath as Renie swerved to miss a woman who had been walking on the road rather than on the verge.
“Moron!” Renie cried. “Why are rich people too tight to have sidewalks? Or don’t they ever walk anywhere except on golf courses?”
“Slow down,” Judith said, this time more calmly.
“I already have,” Renie snapped. “I didn’t hit anybody, did I?”
“No, but I think that was Belle.” Judith turned to look behind them. “Yes, now I can see her head-on. Pull over. Let’s find out what she’s up to.”
