by Mary Daheim
What Judith felt was smooth, probably vinyl, and very shapely. She tugged at the Velcro that held the plastic together. The wrap slowly parted, revealing what looked like a life-size Barbie doll. Or Sally Quinn.
“Yikes!” Renie exclaimed. “She’s in the altogether!”
“But not anatomically correct,” Judith pointed out. “This looks more like it was made by Mattel than Michelangelo.”
“It certainly looks like Sally—or would, from a distance,” Renie pointed out.
“Let’s see the other one,” Judith said, and went through the same process again. “Bigger, taller, less curvy.” She held the plastic apart so Renie could see. “Behold—a Ken doll, only with dark hair like Freddy’s.”
Renie rubbed at her short chin. “So I see. But why?”
“Obviously part of their illusions,” Judith reasoned. “You know—Freddy or Sally would appear someplace where they couldn’t possibly be. The audience sees the mannequin onstage for just a split second, then the curtain falls.”
“Mannequin?” Renie echoed.
Judith gave Renie a quirky smile. “Yes. Mannequin. Like the one in the Corvette. Do you remember somebody saying that Sally actually looked like a Barbie doll?”
“Not really,” Renie admitted. “Maybe I wasn’t around at the time.”
“Highly likely,” Judith remarked with a touch of asperity. “You seldom are.”
“Okay, okay,” Renie shot back, “so I came here to enjoy myself. I could use a break. I spend six, seven hours a day in the basement, working my tail off. It’s so cold down there in the winter that I have to wear three sweaters. The office is underground, the windows are tiny. I’m turning into a mole. Look. I think I’m growing whiskers. And I definitely have mole eyes. If I see the sun, I have to cover my face with a dishrag.”
“Do moles have whiskers?” Judith inquired in an irritatingly calm voice.
“How would I know? I can’t see them.” Renie turned her back and started for the staircase.
“Hey!” Judith shouted. “How about helping me rewrap these dummies?”
“You do it,” Renie retorted. “They’re your kind of people.”
“Coz!” Judith’s temper snapped. “I work hard, too. Get your butt over here and give me a hand.”
“Ohhh…” Renie took a deep breath and complied. “Sorry. I feel overwhelmed these days, what with all three weddings on the horizon, my regular workload, trying to be a good wife to Bill, taking care of Mom, keeping up the house and garden—it’d be nice to go somewhere with you and not find a corpse. Or two.”
“You think I wouldn’t like that?” Judith responded as they fastened the plastic covers on the mannequins. “Not only do I have to do most of the things you mentioned, but I’m in the middle of two huge renovation projects. Still, when I happen to be an innocent bystander in a homicide—or two—I have this obsession with finding out who did it. I want to know the truth. I have to do my part to see that justice is done.”
Renie smiled and shook her head. “You’re too damned noble for your own good.”
“Nonsense.” Judith pressed the last of the Velcro strips together. “It’s why I became a librarian. I wanted to help people. They’d come into the library and request some obscure book nobody had ever heard of. I had to find it. I couldn’t bear the disappointment in their eyes. So I’d dig and dig and dig until I found a copy. It took months sometimes, but the pleasure on those patrons’ faces gave me great satisfaction. I guess it’s the same thing with finding out who did it.” She shrugged. “It’s just the way I am.”
Renie patted Judith’s shoulder. “Despite all the awful things I say, I admire you for it. You know that.”
Judith hugged Renie. There was no reason to say anything. Judith was close to tears; Renie was dry-eyed, and wearing an ironic expression.
“Let’s find the husbands,” she said.
“That shouldn’t be hard,” Judith replied with a sniffle or two. “Less than half an hour ago, they were at the baccarat tables.”
Sure enough, Joe and Bill were still there, both so absorbed that their wives had to poke them to get their attention.
Bill waved a hand for silence. Joe ignored Judith. The cards were dealt out of the shoe. There were two hands, one for Player, one for Bank. It seemed to Judith that face cards didn’t count. It also appeared that a total of eight or nine were the desirable numbers.
Judith tugged at Joe’s sleeve. “Please, this is important,” she whispered.
“Not now.” Joe looked very serious.
Judith gritted her teeth. Player won the next hand. And the next and the next.
“Let’s see if this is a run,” Bill said to Joe.
Joe nodded. Player won again. The eight people seated at the table seemed to be winning.
Another half dozen hands were played before the dealer announced a new shoe. The players stood up, except for an elderly Chinese man who was consulting some notes he’d made. He was frail and his clothes were shabby. Judith watched him hold up a hand to the dealer.
“Twenty-five,” the old man said.
Judith frowned. “He shouldn’t bet twenty-five dollars. He looks so poor.”
“That’s not a request for dollars,” Bill said, stretching his neck muscles. “It’s for twenty-five grand on his line of credit.”
Judith gaped. “But he’s practically wearing rags!”
Bill nodded. “It’s his lucky outfit. He wouldn’t change it for the world. I’ve seen him lose ten grand on one hand. He probably came over to this country from Hong Kong, bringing all his wealth with him.”
Judith shook her head. “That’s incredible.”
Joe had turned to face Judith. “What do you want now?” he asked in an impatient tone.
Trying to be concise, as well as even tempered, Judith explained about the silver gown in the basement wardrobe. At first, Joe didn’t look pleased with his wife’s account of prowling around in the bowels of the casino. But though his expression remained unmoved, a glint of interest surfaced in his green eyes.
“What are you suggesting?”
“That someone impersonated Sally at the end of the act,” Judith said doggedly. “I thought that was established.”
“It’s conjecture,” Joe said, though he had grown thoughtful. “I’ll page Jack Jackrabbit. We’ll take a look.”
Renie and Bill had moved away from the table during the lengthy task of shuffling the several decks used for baccarat. Renie was scanning the blackjack tables as Bill strolled behind her. Judith stayed put while Joe went to a house phone. He was back in less than two minutes.
“I’ll meet him in the basement,” Joe said, on the move. “See you.”
“Hey!” Judith cried. “I’m coming, too. You won’t know where to find the dress.”
Joe stopped and looked at Judith. “What? Oh. I suppose you’re right.”
Her husband’s lack of enthusiasm irked Judith, but she said nothing. When they reached the locked door to the backstage area, Joe produced a key, but suddenly stopped and gave Judith a sheepish look. “How do we get downstairs? I haven’t been there. Jack and his guys checked it out.”
Judith, trying not to seem smug, pointed to the red piano. “That way,” she said.
Down the spiral staircase they went, into the dimly lighted basement. Judith walked directly to the wall switch, then pointed out the wardrobes marked “Mandolini.”
“It’s the one on the right,” Judith said.
“Hey!” a voice called from behind what looked like Egyptian mummy cases. “Is that you, Flynn?”
“Jack?” Joe called back. “Over here, with the wardrobes.”
Jack Jackrabbit appeared, brushing dust from his clothes. “I must have gotten here about a minute before you did,” he said, looking somewhat surprised to see Judith with Joe. “I was already near the backstage entrance.” He made a little bow to Judith. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Flynn.”
“My wife and her cousin made a discovery a
bout an hour ago,” Joe explained. “My lovely bride had never been backstage and she wanted to see what it was like.” He flashed Judith a warning glance. “You know how it is with women—they love to look at costumes, especially the women’s clothes.”
Jack nodded. “My wife wishes we lived closer to a big mall. If we did, I’d have to take on two jobs. But she always looks beautiful no matter what she wears.”
“What a wonderful thing to say,” Judith said with a sharp glance at Joe.
“Very nice, very nice,” Joe murmured, his rubicund face growing darker. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, darling.”
The wardrobe opened at a touch this time. Judith showed Joe and Jack the two costumes that obviously didn’t belong to Sally. “But underneath this purple satin is a…” She stopped and stared.
The sparkling silver ball gown was gone.
THIRTEEN
IT’S GOT TO be here somewhere,” Judith said, frantically searching through the costumes.
“Maybe it’s in this other one,” Joe said.
“No.” Judith shook her head emphatically. “That’s for the grunge band, Craven Raven.”
Joe gazed at the items in the wardrobe. “We’ve got the original gown taken from the body. Are you sure this one was a duplicate? There are some other shiny things in that box.”
“I saw it, Renie saw it,” Judith asserted. “In fact, Renie was the one who noticed it first.”
Joe nodded. He wouldn’t argue with his wife’s powers of observation nor, for that matter, with any woman’s recognition of unusual apparel. “Okay. But it’s not there now.” He turned to Jack. “What’s your take?”
Jack didn’t answer directly. He stood very still, staring into the wardrobe. “Someone has removed the dress. The question is, why?”
“Because it’s evidence,” Judith blurted out.
Joe looked startled. “We know that. We’re cops, remember?”
Embarrassed, Judith turned to Jack. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…”
He smiled and waved a hand. “As members of the tribal police, we work a little differently, Mrs. Flynn. In our culture, we don’t jump to conclusions or take things at face value. We may seem slower to act than other Americans.” He paused just long enough to let his meaning sink in.
Judith kept her mouth shut. “Other Americans” were a mongrel bunch, with backgrounds from all over the globe. There was more purity in the Stillasnowamish tribe. Their culture seemed more complex, more in tune with the elements.
Jack continued speaking. “We should examine the entire wardrobe. I’ll get a couple of my people to take it out of here.”
“Sounds good,” Joe said with a nod. “Do you want me to wait around with you?”
Jack already had his cell phone in hand. “No, that’s okay. You go enjoy the rest of the evening with your charming wife.” He smiled warmly at Judith.
Neither of the Flynns spoke until they were back in the corridor on the main floor. Judith stopped trying to keep up with Joe’s brisk pace.
“Whoa,” she called out. “I want a word with you. Now.”
Frowning, Joe turned around and took a couple of steps closer to Judith. “Why?”
“I don’t get you,” Judith said. “You tell me it’s fine to hold a conversation with your suspects or witnesses or whatever, and then you do everything you can to keep me from having access to them except by accidental encounters.”
“Look, Jude-girl, there’s a ruthless killer loose and I don’t want you to—”
Judith put her fingers in her ears. “I’m not listening. I’m not finished, either.” Seeing that Joe had closed his mouth, she took her fingers out of her ears. “There’s always a ruthless killer loose. And sometimes you’ve been very good at letting me help find that killer. But with this case, you’re skating all over the place. What’s going on with you?”
Joe had grown somber. “There are some things I can’t tell you right now. Do you trust me?”
“What are you talking about?”
Joe put his hands on Judith’s shoulders. “When I say ‘trust,’ I mean total trust, what a husband and wife should have between them.”
Perplexed, Judith studied Joe’s face. He seemed open, candid, direct. “Yes. Yes, of course I trust you. But I still don’t understand.”
“Okay.” He squeezed her shoulders. “For now, let’s leave it at that. Later, I hope, I’ll be able to explain.”
There was something unusual in Joe’s expression. It made Judith uneasy. It suddenly dawned on her that what she saw on her husband’s face was fear. That wasn’t like him. During his entire career, he had put his life on the line.
“Are you in danger?” she asked with alarm.
Joe’s laugh was hollow. “Me? Hell, no.” He put his arm around Judith. “Let’s go try that baccarat. I like it. The player seems to have a fighting chance.”
“I don’t understand it,” Judith admitted as they moved onto the casino floor. “I’ll see if Renie’s playing blackjack. I know how to do that.”
“Okay,” Joe said, then gently kissed Judith’s forehead. “Have fun. Don’t worry.”
Judith watched her husband stroll toward the baccarat tables. He says he’s not in danger, she thought. Maybe he’s not. But somebody is.
She had just spotted Renie at a five-dollar blackjack game when it dawned on her that Joe was telling the truth. A little shiver ran up Judith’s spine as she realized she could be at risk.
Cocktails?” inquired the chipper strawberry-blond waitress as Judith sat down at the table’s only empty chair, which was, fortuitously, next to Renie.
“Yes,” Judith replied eagerly. “Scotch-rocks. Please.”
Renie was drinking Pepsi. “What’s new?”
“The dress is gone,” Judith whispered.
Renie passed a hand over her cards, indicating to the dealer that she was satisfied with her hand. “Really?”
“Yes. Joe and Jack Jackrabbit were with me. We searched the whole wardrobe.”
The dealer, a young Hispanic man whose name tag read “Carlos” looked pointedly at Judith.
Renie, who had won the hand, nudged her cousin. “The seat’s not free. In fact, it wouldn’t be empty if that same old bat who tried to steal my chair at the slots hadn’t just left in a huff because I spilled Pepsi in her lap. Give Carlos a couple of twenties.”
Clumsily, Judith dug in her purse, then took out a fifty-dollar bill from her wallet and handed it to Carlos, who smiled and thanked her. Carlos gave her eight red five-dollar chips and ten silver dollars. “Do I have to bet a red one?” Judith whispered.
Renie nodded. “That’s the minimum.”
Judith had lost the first three hands by the time her Scotch arrived. She placed a silver dollar on the cocktail waitress’s tray and thanked her. As she took her first sip, she looked across the pit area to the opposite table. Manny Quinn was playing with a stack of hundred-dollar chips.
Judith nudged Renie. “Manny’s betting five black chips on one hand. How can he gamble like that when his wife is lying in the morgue?”
Renie scowled at Judith. “How should I know? Wake up, it’s your turn.”
“Oh.” Judith smiled apologetically at Carlos, then waved her hand to indicate that she didn’t want a card.
Renie got a ten on one ace and a queen on the other. “All right,” she murmured. “Hey, coz, flip your cards over. Carlos wants to pay you. He’s only got seventeen.”
“Oh.” Embarrassed by her gaffe, Judith showed her hand. She had a five and a six.
Renie held her head. “You didn’t even look at your cards, did you? If you had, you could’ve gone down for double and gotten one of my ten cards for twenty-one. Maybe you should quit while you’re behind.”
Judith sighed. “Maybe you’re right. I think I’ll just walk around for a bit and then go to bed. Here, take my chips. We’ll settle up later.”
Renie didn’t quibble. She was already examining her new hand. J
udith wandered past the other blackjack tables. There was an open seat next to Manny Quinn. Judith wished she could afford the twenty-five-dollar minimum. Playing next to Manny would give her an opportunity to get better acquainted.
Instead, she’d just decided to see if she could find Joe when a huge cheer went up from one of the nearby craps tables. The big crowd surrounding the table was hugging, kissing, and slapping high fives. She paused for a moment, enjoying the sight of so many people—all ages, all races, all classes—sharing in the communion of craps. Maybe there was more to gambling than just the desire to make money. Maybe it was the true democracy, where the dice didn’t care who you were, rich or poor, black or white, foreign or native born.
Still musing on her insight, Judith almost didn’t hear the PA system call her name. Startled—and somewhat anxious—she marched over to the nearest house phone.
“A Mrs. Grover has been trying to reach you, Mrs. Flynn,” said the operator. “Shall I connect you to her room?”
“Please,” Judith said as her anxiety built up. What could have happened to the two old ladies that would necessitate Gertrude’s using the telephone?
But it was the other Mrs. Grover who answered. “Judith, dear,” Aunt Deb said in her pleasant voice. “Your mother insisted I try to reach you. You know how she abhors the telephone.”
“Yes, I know that. What’s wrong? Are you both okay?”
“Of course we’re fine,” Aunt Deb replied. “Your mother is watching TV and I’m doing the crossword puzzle. How are you?”
“Fine, great, good. Why did Mother want you to call me?”
“How’s Renie? Is she warm enough? I think there must be draughts in a place this size. Is she wearing a warm, woolly sweater?”
“She is,” Judith answered, truthfully. Of course the wool was cashmere and, if anything, Renie was probably too warm in the controlled temperature of the casino. “So why did—”
“You two are sticking together, aren’t you? I know this is a very nice place, but some of the people who gamble could be white slavers. You read in the paper all the time about those poor Chinese girls being sold into bondage. It’s terrible.”
