A Streetcar Named Expire Page 2

  To the amazement of the onlookers—except Gertrude—the ostrich lifted its head, turned beady eyes on the old lady, and ran out of the yard.

  “That wasn’t quite forty miles an hour,” Carl remarked, glancing at his watch, “but it was pretty darned fast.”

  The humane society truck showed up twenty minutes later while Judith was trying to repair the damage the ostrich had done to her plantings. She informed the rescue workers that the bird had escaped—on foot. They told her that ostriches didn’t fly. Judith said she didn’t care, she never wanted to see the damned thing again. The rescue crew shrugged and drove away.

  After the Thursday night guests had departed the next morning, Phyliss was cleaning the guest rooms and Judith was preparing her mother’s lunch when Renie showed up.

  “You’re early,” Judith declared, cutting a chicken salad sandwich into quarters. Gertrude might eat all of it; she might eat half of it; she might feed it to Sweetums. As she grew older, Judith’s mother tended to eat less, at least of the wholesome foods that her daughter prepared for her.

  “It’s eleven twenty-five,” Renie said, looking up at the old schoolhouse clock. “Anyway, I was ready. With Bill gone to Alaska and the three kids traveling in Europe on their own passports but on our money, I don’t have all that much to do in the mornings.”

  “You don’t get up until ten,” Judith pointed out.

  Renie nodded. “Just enough time to get over here early.”

  “I hope Joe and Bill are having good luck up at Shamrock Pass,” Judith said, adding sweet pickles and potato chips to the plate. “Fresh salmon would be a wonderful treat. We could smoke and kipper some for the guests’ appetizers. You know,” she continued, “I need to do some updating before next season’s visitors start making reservations. These days, B&Bs are offering their guests some pretty fancy amenities.”

  “You need a Web site,” Renie asserted. “I’ve been telling you that for months.”

  “I’m on the Web,” Judith responded.

  “Only on lists with other B&Bs,” Renie said, “which means in some cases, you’re right there with your competition. You need your own page. I told you I’d design it for you.”

  Judith, who hated change as much as she loathed decisions, winced. “I suppose…But it seems so…pushy.”

  “Sheesh.” Renie shook her head. “Move into the modern world, coz. Look, as soon as I finish my project for Drug Opprobrium, I’ll start putting something together. You can feel free to add, subtract, multiply, or divide. Okay?”

  “Well…okay.” Judith sounded dubious, even though she knew Renie was right. Leaving her cousin in the kitchen, Judith delivered Gertrude’s lunch, got into an argument, left with apologies to her mother, went upstairs to give Phyliss last-minute instructions, became entangled in a religious debate, agreed to disagree, and finally rejoined Renie.

  “It’s eleven forty-two,” Renie said, tapping her foot and pointing to the schoolhouse clock. “We’re going to be late.”

  “Oh, dear.” Judith gasped, snatching up her purse. “I’m sorry. You’ve no idea how involved I can get between Mother and Phyliss.”

  “Oh, yes, I do,” Renie replied, following Judith out the back door. “I spent almost an hour on the phone with my mother this morning. She’s been worried sick the past few days because I’ve been home alone. She can’t believe I like it that way once in a while. Plus, she’s sure that I’ll be assaulted by burglars, rapists, homicidal maniacs, and, her old favorite, the white slavers.”

  Judith couldn’t help but laugh. “Has your mother ever seen any of those alleged villains? Even a burglar?”

  Renie slipped behind the wheel of the Joneses’ Toyota Camry. “A burglar, yes. You’re too young to remember it, but when I was about four, Auntie Vance and Aunt Ellen chased a burglar out of our basement. There’d been a rash of robberies in the neighborhood. Dad was on one of his two-week sea voyages, and Mom was too scared to roust the intruder by herself. Instead of calling the cops, she phoned Grandma and Grandpa Grover. You know my mother, she didn’t want to be a burden to the tax-supported police force. Anyway, Grandpa and Grandma sent Auntie Vance and Aunt Ellen over to rescue Mom and me. I don’t know what our dear aunts did to that guy, but I can still hear him running down the alley, screaming his head off.”

  “Auntie Vance and Aunt Ellen can be very formidable,” Judith noted as Renie reversed down the driveway and roared out of the cul-de-sac. “Hey, you don’t need to go so fast.”

  “If I don’t, we’ll miss the tour’s start,” Renie replied.

  “I’d like to arrive alive,” Judith said as Renie screeched to a halt at the arterial, paused imperceptibly, and swung out in front of a transit bus.

  “Coz!” Judith shouted as they flew down Heraldsgate Hill’s long, steep south slope, “slow down! You’ve got a red light at the intersection.”

  “Not for long,” Renie said as they shot by condos and apartment houses that were only a blur. “It’s going to change in four seconds. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand, four…See, it’s green.”

  Somehow, the cars ahead of her managed to get out of the way, if barely. The bus had been left in the dust.

  Two minutes later, they were parked near the opera house in the lot reserved for tour participants. It was exactly eleven fifty-five.

  Toujours La Tour featured a converted trolley painted black, gold, and red. The vehicle’s exterior sported diabolical images: a dagger dripped blood; a bottle, presumably of poison, spilled onto what looked like somebody’s last will and testament; the chalk outline of a corpse covered the front end. For being gruesome, it was tastefully done, at least according to Renie. By the time the cousins reached the conveyance, the guide was about to get in.

  “Aha!” he called with a big toothy grin on his boyish face, “latecomers, huh? You don’t want to miss this, ladies. We’re off for a spot of murder and mayhem.”

  “Great,” Judith muttered. “Haven’t I had enough of that already in my life?”

  “At least you don’t have to listen to Joe’s homicide reports anymore since he retired from the force,” Renie reminded Judith.

  “True,” Judith allowed as they clambered onto the trolley and found the last two vacant seats at the rear. “I’ll admit, though,” she said as they seated themselves, “that some of his cases were more interesting than the insurance scams and missing poodle jobs he gets as a private investigator.”

  “They help pay the bills,” Renie pointed out.

  The grinning guide was introducing himself. “I’m Jeremy Lamar, owner and operator of Toujours La Tour,” he said over a mike from the front of the trolley. “This is our inaugural trip, and we’re going to do our darnedest to give you a killer of a treat. First, I’d like you to meet Nan Leech, my assistant.” Jeremy paused as a blond middle-aged woman offered the tourists a tight little smile and a rigid little bow. “Nan will be doing part of the spiel while I drive, and she’s ready to help anyone who might need it—we don’t know yet if the tour’s going to be too much for some folks—ha-ha! She’ll also be available afterward if you want to sign on for some of our other offerings. How many of you are from out-of-town?”

  Almost half the people in the forty-seat bus raised their hands.

  “So we’ve got some locals,” Jeremy said, still with his toothsome grin. “Then you know that this city isn’t famous for big-time crime, but over the years we’ve certainly had our share of strange and lethal doings…”

  “Is he going to talk us to death?” Renie hissed.

  Judith was trying to get comfortable in the old-fashioned leather bucket seat. “I’m glad I took some aspirin before I left. Maybe I can nod off.”

  “Still hurting, huh?” Renie asked in a commiserating tone.

  “It was hard to sleep last night,” Judith replied. “It’s my back more than—”

  The two older people in front of the cousins turned around and told them to shush. Judith gave them a sheepish
smile; Renie curled her lip.

  “So off we go,” Jeremy announced as he swung into the driver’s seat. “First stop, ‘Welcome, Corpses.’”

  “What the heck is that?” Renie whispered.

  Judith shrugged. “That old transient hotel downtown where some of the homeless people have been stabbed? The warehouse in the international district where those Asian gangsters massacred a dozen people?”

  The couple in front of the cousins shot them another warning look. Judith apologized; Renie sneered.

  Nan Leech was offering some background on the city itself, starting with the early pioneers. The cousins tuned her out. The trolley had moved into traffic, which was rather heavy for midday. Overhead, the morning clouds had broken, and the sun was shining in all its late summer splendor. Still, there were reminders everywhere that fall was coming: A September primary election had sprouted all sorts of campaign placards bearing candidates’ names and platform slogans.

  “I wish it’d rain,” Renie said in an undertone. “We’ve had hot, dry weather for over a month.”

  “I know,” Judith replied. “I’m sick of watering the garden. Not that I have much left out back, after that ostrich ate it.”

  “Will you please shut up?” the older man in front of them demanded.

  “Sorry,” Judith said again. “It’s just that we live here, and we know all the—”

  “Well, maybe some of us don’t know everything like you do,” the woman snapped. “And what have you got against sun, anyway?”

  Judith shrank back into her seat; Renie glared at the couple, then stuck her tongue out when they turned to face the front. The trolley headed up the steep hill that the cousins had just descended. Nan had reached the mid-century, promising bloodcurdling labor union tales later in the tour.

  Renie, meanwhile, had taken a notebook out of her purse and drawn a hangman’s scaffold, a vat of oil, and five short horizontal lines. “Guess,” she whispered to Judith.

  “A?” Judith mouthed.

  Renie shook her head, then sketched a head attached to the noose. Nan kept talking.

  “E?” Judith hazarded.

  Renie nodded, writing in an “E” in the second space.

  “I?”

  Renie drew a neck on the head.

  “S?”

  Renie put an “S” in the third and fifth blank spaces.

  Judith studied the word. Renie nodded in the direction of the couple in front of them.

  “T?” Judith offered, seeing the light.

  Renie nodded again, putting the “T” between the “S’s.”

  “P,” Judith said aloud.

  “Oh, good heavens,” the woman cried, turning to face Judith. “You should have done that before you left!”

  “But…” Judith began as Renie filled in the final letter of “PESTS.”

  “And here we are,” Nan announced in triumph, “at one of the deadliest hostelries in North America. Don’t be fooled by its charming décor of chintz bedcoverings and oak plate rails and old-fashioned gas range and stone fireplaces. At least three guests have died violent deaths while staying in this seemingly delightful establishment. Poison, shootings, strangulation—this old Edwardian house has seen it all. We like to refer to the owner as the Old Inncreeper. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hillside Manor B&B!”

  TWO

  LEAPING OUT OF her seat, Judith felt sharp, wrenching pains stab at her back. A cry of anguish prevented her from making a protest. She went white and crumpled into her place.

  Alarmed, Renie grabbed her hand. “Are you going to pass out? Shall I have them send for a doctor?”

  “I…feel…sick,” Judith gasped.

  “Good,” snapped the woman in front of them. “Now shut your yap so we can hear all about this awful death trap.”

  Judith couldn’t do much else. Mortified and queasy, she listened as Jeremy Lamar took up the terrible tale of Corpses R Us or whatever ghastly name he had applied to her beloved B&B.

  “A fortune-teller was the first tragic victim, poisoned at the dining room table before she could reveal the shameful secrets she saw in her crystal ball,” Jeremy intoned, the grin gone and his voice lowered to a deep rumble.

  “I can’t move,” Judith moaned.

  “A world-famous tenor,” Jeremy continued, “seeking a tasty snack from the B&B’s death vault of a refrigerator…”

  “Here,” Renie urged, “let me help you sit up straight.”

  “A New York mobster, his bullet-riddled body found in the backyard…”

  “It’s spasms,” Judith whispered shakily, but allowed Renie to help her change positions.

  “A bloodcurdling shoot-out on this very street…”

  “Let me massage your lower back,” Renie offered.

  “A helpless old woman cut up like a chicken by a hatchet-wielding fiend…”

  “That’s better,” Judith said as the spasms eased under Renie’s ministrations. “Let’s see if I can stretch my legs a bit.” Judith stretched, her long legs bumping the woman in front of her. “Oops!” Judith exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands.

  “That’s it!” the woman cried. “I’m going to have you thrown off the bus!”

  The bus, however, was pulling out of the cul-de-sac. But Jeremy wasn’t finished:

  “Aha!” he shouted, one arm extended in the direction of Hillside Manor. “Look to your right, at the front porch. Even now, the hideous old gargoyle who runs this nest of eternal rest is waving her broom at us!”

  “It’s Phyliss!” Judith shuddered as the cleaning woman, with sausage curls a-flying, diligently swept the steps.

  Jeremy started the trolley again. “That’s a special moment, completely unscheduled,” he said into his microphone. “Nan will take over while we head for ‘The Body in the Wall’ at the Alhambra Arms.”

  A middle-aged man with black hair and mustache to match had risen from his seat across from the cousins. “Excuse me,” he said with a little bow. “I’m Alfred Ashe, a licensed chiropractor. May I help you?”

  “I think I’m beyond help,” Judith said with a feeble attempt at a smile.

  “I don’t think so,” Alfred Ashe replied with a smile. He was a short man with broad shoulders, a dimple in each cheek, large hands, and the longest eyelashes this side of Elizabeth Taylor. Or Mike Piazza. Judith was in too much pain to tell the difference. “If you lean forward and relax,” Dr. Ashe suggested, “I’ll see what I can do. Let me say that there’s some risk, since I’ve never treated you before, but I can almost promise immediate relief.”

  The man in front of Judith and Renie was leaning across the woman who was presumably his wife. “Could you relieve this tour of her entirely? She’s been nothing but a nuisance since we started.”

  “Now, now,” Dr. Ashe said gently, “the poor lady’s in pain. Please bear with us.”

  Judith did as the chiropractor had requested. Manipulating her neck and shoulders, he made three quick, jerky motions. Snap, crackle, and pop. Mouth agape and short of breath, Judith endured the brief treatment, then realized that the worst of the pain was gone.

  “Oh, my.” She sighed, with a grateful look for Dr. Ashe. “You’re right. That’s much better. How can I thank you?”

  “Just promise not to sue me,” Dr. Ashe smiled, sitting back down in his seat and showing off his delightful dimples.

  At the front of the bus, Nan Leech had chosen to ignore the disruption. As Jeremy steered the trolley back down the hill and then maneuvered through the winding streets near the bottom, his assistant had been giving the history of a local landmark apartment house. Judith knew the building, but not much of its background. She gave Renie a puzzled look.

  “Later,” Renie mouthed.

  “You know all about it?” Judith whispered back.

  Renie nodded just as the trolley pulled to a stop. Nan exited, presumably to clear the way for the group’s arrival, and Jeremy resumed his role as narrator.

  “So after almost a hundred ye
ars, the Alhambra Arms has yielded up its deadliest secret. The elegance before the First World War, the halcyon days of the Flapper Era, the sadly faded years of the Great Depression. Yet, by the end of World War Two, the Alhambra had come full circle. Returning veterans desperately needed housing. Suddenly, this fifty-year-old palace, which had grown as dowdy as an émigré duchess, was being revamped, the tiaras polished, the furs taken out of storage, the satin gowns cleaned and pressed.” Jeremy paused for breath, allowing his tourists to admire the structure’s Moorish façade.

  “I’m having it out with him,” Judith said under her breath. “Isn’t this one of the places where we get out to look around?”

  “I think so,” Renie murmured. “Face it, Jeremy had no idea you were on this tour. The reservations were in my name. Wait until the tour’s finished. You need time to put your thoughts in order, not to mention reassemble your various body parts.”

  “I can’t wait,” Judith declared, grimly regarding the vestiges of grandeur that could still be seen on the Alhambra’s exterior. Elaborate grillwork covered the arched windows, which included four stories of balconies rising above the main entrance. Movement behind the third-floor balcony door caught Judith’s eye.

  “Look, coz,” she whispered with a nudge for Renie. “Somebody’s watching us.”

  “So?” Renie shrugged.

  “They’re gone,” Judith said softly. “As in evaporated.”

  Renie said nothing.

  “As you can see from the scaffolding,” Jeremy went on after describing the original materials and careful attention to detail, “a renaissance is underway. The Alhambra is being converted by Guthrie Properties into condominiums, a renovation that will not only hearken back to the early part of century, but improve upon it with the most modern amenities. We are very fortunate that George Guthrie has given us permission to tour his most recent project. You see,” he added, dropping his voice an octave or so, “it is because of this current undertaking—no pun intended—that a fifty-year-old mystery has been recently solved.”

  Jeremy raised a hand, beckoning to his rapt listeners. “So come along and enter into another era with a window on the future and a body in the—” He stopped for dramatic effect. “But wait. Nan will take up the tale once we get into the courtyard. She’s gone on ahead to make sure we’re not getting in the way of the construction crew. I’ll check upstairs and meet you there. Meanwhile, I might point out that the fountain area you’ll see was once a swimming pool. During the Depression, it became too expensive to maintain and had to be drained.”