A Streetcar Named Expire Read online

  “Mavis?” Renie said.

  Mavis gave Renie a quick nod. “Detective Price,” the anchorwoman said, wringing Woody’s hand. “We’ve met on several occasions. And you, Ms…. Sorry, I forget.”

  “Rael,” Sancha replied coldly. “Sancha Rael. That’s R-A-E…”

  Mavis waved a hand. “Never mind, we don’t spell on television. Okay, let’s get a two-shot, Ms. Flynn and Detective Price.” She jerked a thumb at Renie and Sancha. “You two move it. Make sure you’re well out of camera range. Come on, let’s—”

  Renie hunkered down in the chair. “I can’t move. I’m having a spell.”

  “Too bad the exorcist got killed,” Mavis snapped. “Maybe she could have broken it. As it is,” she went on with a menacing expression and the shaking of her fist, “I’m going to—”

  “I’m Detective Price’s partner,” Sancha declared, not budging an inch. “We work as a team. If he gets on TV, so do I.”

  “I don’t want to be on TV,” Renie said. “I just want to cause trouble.”

  Apparently acknowledging that she was outnumbered, Mavis’s face softened. “Of course. Stay put, Ms. Jones. Detective Rael, I’ll do a close-up of you after I finish with Detective Price and Ms. Flynn. Now,” she continued, gesturing at her technical support, “let’s take up where you left off, Detective Price. I assume you were asking Ms. Flynn what ideas she has about who killed Mrs. Carrabas.”

  “Not exactly,” Woody murmured. “At this point, our inquiries are strictly routine.”

  “We can’t tip our hand at this stage of the investigation,” Sancha asserted, thrusting her face next to Woody’s.

  Making another gesture at her cameraman, Mavis seemed undaunted. “Pretend, then, Detective Price.”

  Before Woody could respond, Renie swung her legs over the arm of the chair, hit the coffee carafe with her feet, and sent it crashing to the floor.

  “Oops!” She jumped up to grab the carafe before it could spill onto the rug. “Sorry, folks. It’s a good thing the carafe’s stainless steel and not ceramic. See?” she said, holding it up in front of the camera. “The stopper doesn’t open in these babies until you do this.” Renie twisted the top; several drops of coffee splattered on Mavis’s suede pumps. “Oops!” Renie said again.

  Mavis was gritting her teeth as she grabbed a napkin from the tray and dabbed at her shoes. “I’d forgotten what a clumsy person you are,” she said, eyes like daggers aimed at Renie. “Now let me see…” Mavis consulted her binder again. “Aimee Carrabas, of Studio City, California, age fifty-two. Owner and operator of Exes and Hexes, Inc. What do you think, Ms. Flynn? Better yet, you ask her that question, Detective Price.”

  “I can do it,” Sancha put in. “Only let me rephrase so it sounds more—”

  “Butt out!” Mavis commanded, then offered Woody a bogus smile. “Go ahead, Detective Price.”

  Woody scowled at Mavis. “As a matter of fact, Detective Rael and I were just about finished here. This isn’t a media circus, Ms. Lean-Brodie, this is a homicide investigation. We’re not playing parts for your—”

  “Cut!” yelled Mavis. “Perfect, right up to ’We’re not blah-blah.’ Okay, let’s follow Ms. Flynn and the detectives out the front door. Come on, guys, move it.”

  “Woody,” Judith began as she got to her feet, “I’m so sorry about this. I had no idea.”

  “I know.” Woody smiled, though otherwise he looked pained. “We’ll be in touch. Meanwhile, don’t worry. You’re not a suspect. Have Joe call me when he gets back from Alaska.”

  “I will,” Judith promised, then kissed Woody’s cheek. “Give my love to Sondra and the kids.”

  “Me, too,” Renie shouted, jumping up and down so that she could be seen behind the much taller TV personnel. “Bye, Woody.”

  “Great,” Mavis enthused. “That kiss was perfect. Okay, Judith, let’s do our interview. How about starting with the fortune teller? We’ll just leave my name out of that one.”

  “I don’t see how,” Judith snapped. “You were a suspect.”

  “Hardly,” Mavis said with scorn. “Okay, we’ll skip it. How about the Easter Bunny?”

  “No.” Judith had finally found the courage to resist. “Mavis, I like you, I think you’re an outstanding newswoman, but I’m not going to capitalize on what’s been plain dumb luck, most of it bad. Please. I appreciate your interest, but I’m not really a sleuth.”

  “Okay.” The sparkle in Mavis’s eyes wasn’t completely lost on Judith. “We’ll wrap it up. Thanks, Judith. Got to run. Deadlines and all that.”

  Mavis and her minions departed. Judith leaned against the door-frame, shaking her head. “Drat. What a dumb idea for a TV feature. I’m no Nancy Drew.”

  “You’re not eternally eighteen,” Renie said, watching the KINE-TV crew load the vans. “Nancy never grew up. If she had, she’d probably be dead by now.”

  “Or at least as old as our mothers,” Judith remarked, going back inside and firmly closing the door. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

  “Well…” Renie mulled. “Okay, but I’ll need to check my messages from here. Then maybe I can start playing around with some ideas for your Web site. But first we have to collect my car.”

  When the cousins reached the bottom of the hill in Judith’s Subaru, they saw the tour trolley, sitting empty. Briefly, Judith considered seeking out Jeremy Lamar. But there wasn’t time. The B&B guests would be arriving any minute.

  After letting Renie out to claim the Camry, Judith turned around to head back into traffic. The commute had already begun, with vehicles streaming toward the freeway entrance less than a mile away. Drumming her nails on the steering wheel, she gave a start when someone tapped on her window.

  “Ma’am?” mouthed Alfred Ashe. “How are you?”

  Quickly, Judith rolled the window down. “Dr. Ashe,” she said in surprise. “I’m better, thanks to you.”

  “It was nothing,” Alfred said modestly. “Is it true you found that dead woman?”

  Judith nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so. Were you able to finish the tour?”

  “No.” Alfred looked miffed, his long eyelashes swooping downward. “The police had to question each of us, and then some of the other tourists had appointments elsewhere, so we had to get rainchecks. We only arrived back here a few minutes ago. I’m waiting for a cab.”

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, Judith saw Renie behind her, waving impatiently. “Can you take the tour again?” Judith asked as she eased up on the brake.

  “I don’t know,” Alfred replied, his heavy black brows coming together in a frown. “I’m only in town for a few days. Tell me, do you know what kind of treasure they found at the Alhambra?”

  “Some jewelry, I think,” Judith replied, feeling Renie nudge the Subaru with the Camry’s bumper. “I didn’t see it. Excuse me, I really must go.”

  “Of course.” Alfred stepped back as Renie let loose with a half-dozen honks of the horn.

  Luckily, there was an opening in the parade of cars. The street was one-way, which meant Judith had to cross three lanes to get over to the left so she could turn back up the hill. It took her four blocks to squeeze into the proper lane. Five minutes later, she was at Hillside Manor. Renie was already there, leaning on the Camry’s roof. Judith didn’t want to know what maniacal maneuvers her cousin had used to get back so fast.

  “What kept you?” Renie asked in a vexed tone.

  Judith was angry; her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Don’t ever bump my car again. I thought Cammy was too precious to use as a battering ram.”

  “She is,” Renie replied, giving her car an affectionate pat. “But she’s also very strong.”

  “Bunk,” Judith said, going around to the back door. “Couldn’t you see I was talking to Dr. Ashe?”

  “Dr. Ashe?” Renie frowned. “Is that who that was? I thought it was some boob asking for directions.”

  “You’re terrible when it comes to recognizing people,” Judith declared
, unlocking the door. “You can identify antiques, architecture, paintings, even graffiti, but faces mean nothing to you. I don’t get it.”

  “Hey—knuckleheads!” Gertrude was stomping out to the patio on her walker. “Where’s my candy?”

  Judith opened the door but stepped back. “What candy?”

  “Didn’t you go to Gut Busters?” Gertrude demanded. “You always get me that ten-pound bag of chocolate-covered peanuts.”

  Judith stepped down to the walkway. “We didn’t go to Gut Busters. Renie and I took a mystery tour.”

  Gertrude’s small, wrinkled face twisted like a corkscrew. “You what?”

  “Never mind.” Judith waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll go to Gut Busters on Monday.”

  Gertrude banged the walker so hard that the statue of St. Francis on the small patio shook on its pedestal. “Go now. I may be dead by Monday.”

  “No, you won’t,” Judith countered. “You’ve got boxes of candy in your dresser drawer. Why don’t you open one of them?”

  “I did,” Gertrude replied. “But it’s half-gone. That redheaded woman ate most of it.”

  “What redheaded woman?” Judith rubbed at her temples. Gertrude’s delusions were very upsetting.

  “The one from TV,” Gertrude replied. “Big woman. She shouldn’t eat so much candy.”

  Aghast, Judith marched up to her mother. “Are you talking about Liz Ogilvy?” Sometimes the delusions were preferable to reality.

  “Right,” Gertrude responded, suddenly looking sly. “I’m going to be on the news. What do you think of that, toots?”

  Judith felt as if all the color had drained out of her face. “What did you tell them?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Gertrude snickered.

  “Oh, good grief!” Judith held her head.

  “Hey,” Renie called from the porch, “how do you get into your B&B program on the computer?” She waved both hands over her head. “Hi, Aunt Gertrude.”

  “Hi, dopey,” Gertrude shot back. “You got any candy?”

  “Sorry, I’m fresh out,” Renie replied, then swerved around. “Hey, there’s somebody at the front door. Should I let them in?”

  Rattled, Judith turned this way and that. “I’ll do it,” she finally said, half-stumbling back to the house. “It’s probably guests.”

  “Hey,” Gertrude shouted. “Where’s my candy?”

  “Look under your bloomers,” Renie said. “Second drawer, to the right.” She, too, went back inside.

  By five o’clock, all the guests had arrived, filling Hillside Manor’s six rooms. They were a far-flung bunch, from Suffolk, San Mateo, St. Louis, Saskatchewan, Singapore, and South Dakota. In between arrivals, Judith prepared the appetizers for the six o’clock social hour while Renie plied the computer and swore a lot.

  “Think big,” she said to Judith. “What’s your theme?”

  Judith frowned. “Comfort? Coziness? Congeniality?”

  Renie shook her head. “No good. Think bigger.”

  “I can’t, not now,” Judith replied, sounding grumpy. “I’m too frazzled.” She placed a tray of deviled eggs topped with crab and shrimp in the fridge, then looked up at the clock. “It’s five-oh-five. Dare we?”

  “The news?” Renie wrinkled her pug nose, then clicked the mouse several times. “I never watch the news. Almost never, anyway.”

  Judith grimaced. “I think I’d better. I’m going upstairs.”

  Renie heaved a big sigh. “Okay, I’ll come with you,” she said shutting down the B&B program. “You realize that if another big story has broken, you may not be on.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” Judith said as she started up the back stairs. “Either that, or we’ve missed it.”

  Joe had recently bought a large-screen TV for the sitting room in the third floor family quarters. Judith flopped down on the loveseat and clicked the remote. Mavis Lean-Brodie and a handsome young Asian man were seated behind a desk with the KINE-TV logo prominently displayed.

  “…In the polluted waters of Lake…” Mavis was saying as the picture on the screen switched to a brackish pool.

  “That’s not me,” Judith said with relief. “I should have made drinks.”

  “I’m good,” Renie said. “I stole a Pepsi while I was fiddling with your stuff on the computer.”

  An overhead shot of the Pentagon appeared next. “That’s not me,” Judith repeated. “Air strikes,” “overt aggression,” and “unspeakable atrocities” were the phrases that floated from a grim-visaged man in a dark suit and muted tie. A commercial break followed. Judith hit the mute button.

  “You know,” she said, “that was an odd question Dr. Ashe asked this afternoon. He stopped me while I was trying to pull out into traffic, and I forgot about it until now because you got me so riled.”

  “I did?” Renie’s brown eyes were all innocence. “What did he say?”

  “He asked what kind of treasure they found at the Alhambra,” Judith replied.

  “What’s odd about that?”

  “He didn’t really ask about Mrs. Carrabas,” Judith said. “Wouldn’t that have been the natural thing to do?”

  “Maybe he’d already been told about her,” Renie said.

  “Well…maybe.” She remained silent for a moment as the news resumed, this time with a financial expert spouting stock quotes. “The rest of the tour group was questioned by the police. I suppose they filled them in on what had happened.” Again, Judith grew quiet. The weatherman appeared, pointing to a map of the state’s western half. “Except they don’t. I mean, in a homicide investigation, witnesses aren’t told anything.”

  Renie gave a little shrug. “They must have told them that Mrs. Carrabas had been murdered. What else would he need to know?”

  “That’s my point,” Judith said. “You’d think Dr. Ashe would want to know more. Instead, he inquired after the treasure.”

  “You’re being weird,” Renie said, though without reproach. “Oh—sports. Turn the sound back on. Let’s see how our team is faring on its road trip back east.”

  The local baseball team had lost the first end of a doubleheader. Renie groaned. “It’s that damned bullpen,” she lamented. “They couldn’t stop our mothers.”

  “Neither can we,” Judith said dryly as the sports reporter moved on to the local football team’s upcoming season opener.

  The phone rang on the side table next to the loveseat. Judith picked it up and, coincidentally, heard Aunt Deb’s voice at the other end.

  “Do you know where Renie is?” she asked in a frantic voice. “She should have been back hours ago from that crazy tour you two went on. I’m sure something’s happened. With Bill and the grandchildren gone, and her all alone, I know she must have had some kind of accident or she would have called me by now. You never can tell these days with so many bad drivers out there, and Mrs. Parker was telling me this afternoon that her grandson was in a wreck last night only two blocks from his—”

  “Aunt Deb!” Judith said sharply, having already tried to break into the nonstop monologue in gentler ways. “Renie’s right here. We’re having dinner together. Do you want to talk to her?”

  “Of course I do!” Aunt Deb said in a strangled voice. “Thank goodness!”

  Ignoring Renie’s protests, Judith handed her cousin the phone just as the station switched to another commercial break. Once again, Judith hit the mute button, and wished she could do the same with Renie.

  “I’m sorry,” Renie was saying, her expression harassed. “I should have called from here…Well, it wasn’t such a good tour after all…No, nobody got fresh with us…Yes, I kept warm. How could I not? It’s over eighty…No, we didn’t get off the bus without a chaperone…Yes, I wore sensible shoes, though you must remember, Mom, I haven’t worn those high-top oxfords for several years now…No, I’d forgotten that your old boss, Mr. Whiffel, had lived with his sister in the Alhambra Arms…Yes, it was…um…an interesting place…”

  Liz Ogil
vy was in a close-up; Judith turned the sound back on.

  “In KINE-TV’s top story,” Liz was saying, “we promised an insider’s look at a woman who was on the murder scene today. Judith Flynn is a local B&B hostess who…”

  Judith made wild gestures at Renie. The screen now showed a bug-eyed Judith in the bedroom at the Alhambra. Renie told her mother she had to ring off. Aunt Deb kept talking. Renie banged all the buttons with her fist, then shouted that the phone was broken and hung up.

  “…Not only discovered the body just before KINETV arrived at the scene,” Liz was saying, “but has a reputation for actually solving several other homicides in the past ten years.”

  Judith saw herself still in the bedroom, sweat dripping down her high forehead, short salt-and-pepper hair plastered against her pale cheeks. “She might have been stabbed or shot, but I don’t see a weapon.”

  Judith grimaced. As far as she could recall, she had said that. The scene shifted slightly. Judith now looked rubber-legged and half-crocked as she tried to balance herself on the walnut bureau. “I was shocked. And saddened.”

  “But,” a brisk-voiced Mavis was now saying from the lawn in front of Hillside Manor, “it takes more than murder to put our heroine out of action. An hour or so later, she was back on the job—the real job—at Hillside Manor.”

  Judith, with a forced smile that looked ghoulish enough to be mistaken for the work of a drunken undertaker, opened the door to the B&B. Mavis did the voiceover. “Bodies or no bodies, Judith Flynn makes her guests feel like somebody. Even as she welcomes the latest visitors to Hillside Manor, detectives await her advice on today’s brutal slaying.”

  Woody, slightly out of focus, scowled at the camera. His face took up most of the screen, with only a stray strand of Sancha’s hair visible near his shoulder. “This is a homicide investigation,” he asserted. “We’re not playing.”

  “Hey,” Judith cried as Sweetums wandered into the room. “They cut off the rest of what Woody said.”

  “I figured they would,” Renie responded, eyes glued on the set which showed Judith kissing Woody goodbye.

  “Obviously,” Mavis purred, “there’s great respect and affection between our city’s detectives and Mrs. Flynn. How does she solve cases that defy even the experts? Maybe it’s an inherited quality. KINE-TV’s Liz Ogilvy spent some time this afternoon visiting with Judith’s mother, Gertrude Grover, in her cozy apartment behind the B&B.”