Here Comes the Bribe Read online

  “Why not? You do. And I don’t usually have them hovering over the stove while I’m making breakfast,” he asserted, his usual morning cheer absent. “Are you sure the Schmucks’ credit card went through?”

  “Yes. They must have money. The stretch limo didn’t come cheap.”

  Joe removed a ham from the refrigerator. “Let me handle the so-called proof Schmuck says he has about being your son. You don’t need that kind of hassle. Then I’ll see if I can get somebody at headquarters to run him through the system.”

  Judith frowned. “You think he’s a crook?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Joe said. “But I’d like to find out if he has a rap sheet. If not, we could deal with him merely being nuts.”

  Judith, who was mixing waffle batter, was briefly silent. “Let me talk to Rodney first. I’d like to see his alleged proof for myself. Then you can take over and check out whatever he shows me.”

  Joe smiled. “You think your people skills are better than mine?”

  “Well . . . in this setting, I am the innkeeper,” Judith replied diffidently.

  “You are at that,” Joe conceded. “Okay, but I’m still going to chat him up. I haven’t had a chance to meet the guy yet.”

  Judith nodded. “That so-called pleasure is all yours.”

  After they’d eaten their own breakfast and Judith had delivered Gertrude’s scrambled eggs, ham, toast, grapefruit, and coffee, the first of the guests entered the dining room. Guessing that the skinny man with the shaved head and the long-haired shapeless woman were the doctor and her husband, Judith extended her hand and introduced herself.

  “I’m Sophie,” the woman said, keeping her hands at the side of her dun brown sacklike dress. “I don’t shake hands. I’m a surgeon.”

  “Oh,” Judith said as Clayton Ormsby’s grip proved rather flaccid, “I understand. What kind of surgery do you perform?” she inquired of his wife.

  “Cutting edge,” Sophie replied with what might have been a smile. “Clayton blogs.” She turned to her husband. “What’s your topic today?”

  “Gloom,” he replied. “In all its forms.”

  Judith thought that was an apt subject for the long-faced Mr. Ormsby. “By midmorning the clouds will lift,” she said for lack of a more cogent comment. “Most of breakfast is already on the buffet. French toast and muffins are on the way.”

  Back in the kitchen, Joe asked if Rodney had shown up yet. Judith informed him he hadn’t, but heard more guests entering the dining room. She peeked over the half doors. “The bride and groom,” she whispered. “And the Crumps. They’re both short and stocky, like matching salt and pepper shakers. He’s also got a bad comb-over. At least I think I’m getting these people sorted out. I heard someone greet Agnes.”

  “I figure she’s the dumpy, frumpy woman,” Joe said as Judith joined him at the stove where he was taking out the muffins. “What did Millie Schmuck do after she got up so early? Go back to bed?”

  “I guess,” Judith said. “Maybe it takes her that long to put herself together. She didn’t look so hot when she was down here earlier.”

  Judith put the muffins in a basket and carried them into the dining room. “Just out of the oven,” she announced.

  Dr. Sophie set down her glass of tomato juice. “Are they whole wheat?” she inquired.

  “No,” Judith replied. “They’re corn-bread muffins.”

  Dr. Sophie didn’t comment. Nor did she look up when Reverend Kindred and his wife, Elsie, arrived. The couple offered everyone a blessed morning. The man Judith thought was Charles Crump voiced a hearty “Amen, brother!” He slapped the Reverend on the back, almost toppling the gaunt man of the cloth. Judith suppressed a sigh and went back to the kitchen.

  “Still no sign of . . .” she began, but stopped when she saw Millie Schmuck coming down the hall from the back stairs. Mrs. Schmuck was dressed in a lime-green pantsuit, her makeup applied with a considerable amount of care.

  “My husband is ailing this morning,” she told the Flynns. “Too much excitement, perhaps. He’s very sensitive to the feelings of others. I do hope he improves in time for the wedding ceremony. It means so much to him to give our daughter away.”

  “I can understand that,” Joe said with only a faint touch of irony.

  “Do you have a daughter?” Millie asked, somehow making it sound like an incredulous possibility.

  “I do,” Joe replied, “from my first marriage. Caitlin’s still single. She’s a dedicated career woman who works at a laboratory in Switzerland.”

  Millie looked askance. “How very ambitious of her. Excuse me. I’m going to fetch some juice to take up to Rodney. It may help settle his stomach.”

  Both Flynns watched her passage from the kitchen to the dining room. “Tied one on last night, I’ll bet,” Joe murmured.

  Judith shrugged. “That’s what wedding parties often do.”

  “We didn’t,” Joe pointed out, giving his wife a quick hug. “We had a nice rehearsal dinner and a church wedding like respectable people. I don’t remember the Vegas ceremony with Herself. For all I know, the JP could’ve been Howard Hughes.” He sniffed the air. “Damn! I left the French toast in the oven! I’ll bet it’s ruined.”

  As soon as he opened the oven, a cloud of smoke billowed into the middle of the kitchen. Joe swore under his breath as he rescued the charred French toast. Before he could dump it in the garbage can under the sink, the smoke alarm went off.

  Judith hurried into the dining room. “It’s okay,” she asserted calmly. “Just a minor mishap. No need to panic.”

  But several of the guests did just that. Clayton Ormsby began to cough. Dr. Sophie hauled him out of his chair and insisted they go to the front porch. Stuart and Cynthia Wicks followed them to make sure Clayton wasn’t choking to death. The Crumps glared at each other as if one of them were somehow responsible for whatever had gone wrong in the kitchen. The Reverend Kindred’s call to prayer went unheeded, while Belle Schmuck and Clark Stone kept eating.

  “We should smoke some weed before the wedding,” Belle said to her groom. “You got that good stuff? This place smells like bad stuff.”

  Judith returned to the kitchen. “This,” she whispered to Joe, “is a fiasco! I wish these people had never come here. They’re a hex.”

  “Relax,” Joe said, chuckling. “They’re a peculiar bunch, but all that happened is some damage to half a loaf of bread. Stop fussing. You’ll wear yourself out before the ceremony.”

  Judith put her hand on his arm. “You’re right. It’s not as if the oven hasn’t smoked before. I should’ve reminded Phyliss to clean it yesterday. It was overdue for a scrubbing.”

  Five minutes later, the guests had reassembled in the dining room. After a few more remarks about how unsettling breakfast had been, their conversation turned to the wedding and the reception. Judith eavesdropped, hoping to learn if more people would be on hand. Finally she went back into the dining room, and after apologizing for any inconvenience, she asked Belle if they planned to hold a reception when they returned to L.A.

  “Not the formal kind,” Belle replied. “After we get back from Japan, maybe we’ll throw a big pool party. How come you don’t have a pool?”

  “The backyard’s not that big,” Judith replied. “My mother has her own apartment out there.”

  “Your mother?” Belle said in surprise. “She must be a thousand years old.”

  “She’s working on it,” Judith murmured, noticing that someone had opened the dining room window that looked on to the Rankerses’ imposing hedge. “Good,” she said to no one in particular. “It’s airing out.”

  By a little after nine, the guests had returned to their rooms. Or so Judith assumed. “I suppose,” she said to Joe while they cleared the dining room table, “they’re preparing for the wedding. I heard Cynthia Wicks say something to Dr. Sophie about getting manis and pedis. I wonder if they’re going to that new spa where . . .” She paused, seeing Rodney Schmuck come down
the hall clutching at his plaid bathrobe. “Good morning,” she greeted him. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Not as good as I should,” he replied, leaning against the fridge. “I’ve got a problem.” He grimaced. “I think Millie’s dead.”

  Chapter 3

  Judith thought she must have misunderstood. “You think your wife is . . . what?”

  Rodney was obviously weak in the knees. He started sliding to the floor, but Joe caught him before he hit bottom. “Here, sit,” he advised Rodney, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table. “I’m going up to check on your wife. Which room are you in?”

  “Ahhh . . . the first one on your left,” Rodney replied. “Room One, maybe? But Millie’s not there. She’s outside by the birdbath.”

  “Are you certain she’s . . . dead?” Judith asked, leaning against the counter for support.

  Rodney nodded. “No pulse. Not breathing. Odd color. Poor Millie!”

  “I’ll check,” Joe said, moving briskly to the back door.

  Maybe Rodney was mistaken. But even so, given Judith’s vast experience with dead people, she was surprisingly flustered. It had been a long time since anyone had died or even fallen ill on the premises. It took her a moment to find the phone, though it was in its cradle on the counter. “I’ll call 911,” she said. To her relief, she didn’t recognize the voice of the operator who answered. Help would be dispatched at once. That was much better than having some sarcastic grump at the other end who knew her history with corpses.

  Judith disconnected. “Would you like a drink of water?” she asked Rodney, who was slumped in the chair, holding his head.

  A grim-faced Joe came back inside before the question could be answered. “He’s right. No response. She’s dead.” He looked at Rodney. “I’m sorry.”

  “I called 911,” Judith said.

  Joe nodded. “I’ll go back outside and stay with . . . Mrs. Schmuck. I wouldn’t want your mother to come outside and get upset. She might have a stroke.” The idea seemed to cheer him.

  “I need a real drink,” Rodney declared. “A stiff one. Bourbon’ll do.”

  Judith poured almost an inch of Jack Daniel’s into a glass and added a couple of ice cubes. “What happened?” she asked.

  Rodney downed half the bourbon in one huge gulp. “I’m not sure. I was in the can across the hall. When I came back to the room, she was gone.” He made a face and shook his head. “I thought she’d headed back for breakfast. I had a pounding headache, so I came down to see if you had some aspirin. I got to the bottom of those stairs and felt light-headed. I opened the back door to get some air and—” He broke off.

  “Take your time,” Judith cautioned. “There’s no rush.”

  Rodney licked dry lips. “I didn’t know why Millie went outside. I thought she’d fallen down. So I went to help her . . . but she didn’t move. I mean, she wasn’t even breathing. I couldn’t feel a pulse. Dang!” He drained the glass. “More, okay?”

  Judith hesitated, but Rodney was obviously distressed. “Of course.” She poured a refill. “Has your wife been sick lately?”

  “Millie? Sick?” He shook his head. “She hardly ever gets a cold.”

  Sirens could be heard in the distance. “The emergency people are almost here,” Judith said. “The fire station’s only a few blocks away.”

  The phone rang. Judith snatched it off the counter.

  “It’s me,” Joe said. “I’m staying with the body. The cops are pulling into the cul-de-sac. Oh, damn! Arlene and Carl are welcoming them. Maybe she’ll bake them a cake. I’d better make sure they come out back instead of stampeding through the house.” He clicked off.

  But someone had already rung the doorbell. “I’d better let them in,” Judith muttered, exiting the kitchen.

  To her relief, she didn’t recognize the two on-duty officers. “Are you the one who called?” the tall, rangy, young African American patrolman inquired.

  Judith noticed his name tag identified him as Roland Pugh. “Yes. This is a B&B and I’m the innkeeper, Judith Flynn.”

  Roland exchanged a quick glance with his burly, fair-haired partner, who Judith noted was Ivar Soderstrom. Maybe her reputation had preceded her. “Where is the deceased?” Ivar asked as the fire trucks and the medic van pulled in.

  “Out back,” she replied. “My husband, Joe Flynn, is with the body.”

  “Joe Flynn?” Roland said in surprise. “He’s not the one who was Captain Price’s partner, is he?”

  “The same,” Judith responded. Maybe, she thought, they’ll show me a little respect instead of treating me like a meddling ghoul.

  The officers started to turn away, but Belle and Clark had just come down the stairs. They gaped at the policemen. “Hey, man!” Clark exclaimed. “What’s up? We’re clean.”

  The cops looked at each other and shrugged before trudging off the porch. The bridal couple lingered in the hall. Judith braced herself to deliver the bad news. “I’m afraid your mother’s had . . . an accident.”

  “Not again!” Belle cried. “Did she borrow your car? Don’t worry, she’s got insurance. I think.”

  “Stop.” Judith’s voice carried calm authority, the tone she’d often used on Dan McMonigle’s rowdy drunken customers at the Meat & Mingle Café. “Your mother collapsed and is unresponsive.”

  Belle’s almost pretty face sagged. “Mom can act like she’s not paying attention sometimes, but . . . what do you mean?”

  “Your father saw her lying in the backyard. He couldn’t rouse her,” Judith explained. “The medics will try to revive her. We called as soon as your father told us. He’s in the kitchen.”

  Belle’s head swiveled, first to the stairs, then in the direction of the kitchen, and finally back to the stairs. “Come on, Nerd, let’s go check out Mom. This must be some kind of nutty joke. Mom’s always had a weird sense of humor.” She grabbed Clark’s hand and started racing for the back door.

  Judith felt a headache coming on. She was turning toward the kitchen when someone called her name from the front porch.

  “Mrs. Flynn,” the smiling firefighter said. “Remember me? I’m Jess Sparks.”

  “Jess!” She was so relieved to see a friendly face that she hugged him, heavy gear and all. They had met the previous year when the young man was a recent hire and had been on a call in the cul-de-sac. “We’re fine. I mean, Joe and I are fine, but one of the guests apparently dropped dead in the backyard. Her husband’s in the kitchen.”

  “That’s too bad,” Jess said. “I guess there’s nothing we can do about that. Mr. Rankers thought maybe you’d had a kitchen fire. One of my crew told me that happened a while back.”

  “Oh. Well, there was some smoke, but that was it,” Judith said. “The dead guest is another matter.”

  “I guess.” Jess’s slightly crooked smile turned grim. “Is it true that you’ve . . . um . . . had . . . some other . . . accidents here?”

  “No. I mean, yes, but they weren’t really accidents. They were . . . premeditated.”

  “Wow! I guess the guys weren’t kidding.” Jess grimaced. “I’d better let you get back to . . . whatever you need to do next.”

  “Right,” Judith said. “Nice to see you again. Take care.”

  Judith arrived in the kitchen to find Rodney drinking straight from the bourbon bottle. “On’y way t’ cope,” he mumbled. “Millie wash a goo’ wi’. She’d ha’ liked ya, Mama.” With that, he slid out of the chair and passed out on the kitchen floor.

  Ten minutes later, Rodney was on the sofa in the living room with an ice bag on his head. Judith had taken two Excedrin and Joe had finally returned to the kitchen.

  “Heart attack, probably,” Joe said. “No sign of trauma.”

  Judith put a hand to her head. “What a relief!”

  “I had a feeling you’d say that.” He sat down at the kitchen table. “I wonder if they’ll still have the wedding. The last I saw of the bride, she was semihysterical.”

  “Someone wi
ll have to make that decision,” Judith said. “It’s after ten. Where’s everybody else? I thought I heard some of them go out after the firefighters left.”

  Joe shrugged. “No clue. Maybe the other women decided to go ahead and have their nails done. The rev’s meditating in the driveway. I hope he doesn’t call on your mother and ask her to join him.”

  “Mother!” Judith exclaimed. “She has no idea what’s happened. I should tell her.”

  “Why? She won’t care. She’s used to your disasters. That old girl has lived through two world wars, the Great Depression, the jazz age, the threat of nuclear holocaust, rock and roll, labor strikes, race riots, desegregation, the Beatles, several recessions, and almost twenty presidents. Nothing short of the Second Coming would jar her. In fact, she’d probably tell Jesus he was late.”

  Judith smiled. “That sounds about right.”

  “I guess I’ll hold off moving the furniture in the parlor,” Joe said, brushing at his graying red hair that had receded a bit over the years. He tensed. “I’ll check to see if they’re removing the body.”

  Judith decided to avoid that sad scene. Instead, she offered a silent prayer for Millie and her family before cleaning up the breakfast clutter.

  “She’s gone,” Joe announced. “In more ways than one. The emergency people are all leaving.”

  Judith sighed. “Good. Maybe the rest of the wedding party will leave. Of their own volition, I mean.”

  “Right,” Joe said, taking the garbage bag out from under the sink. “This thing’s full. I’ll put it outside.”

  He’d gone out the back door when a tearful Belle and a self-righteous-looking Dr. Sophie entered the kitchen. The older woman spoke first. “Ms. Schmuck is requesting an autopsy,” she declared. “It’s only appropriate under the circumstances. Her mother was in excellent health. It would be gross negligence not to have her death investigated.”

  Judith was dismayed, but tried not to show it. “I suppose that’s true. Is . . . was Mrs. Schmuck your patient?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Sophie replied. “And a close personal friend.”