A Streetcar Named Expire Page 7

  “What about the bad publicity you’ve given me?” Judith countered.

  “I don’t see it that way,” Jeremy said, still earnest. “Oh, sure, maybe I sort of overstated some of the facts, but look at the exposure you’ve gotten for your business. I mean, that can’t be all bad, can it?”

  Judith just stared at Jeremy.

  “Anyway,” he went on, “I’d hope that you’d sort of team up with Mr. Flynn. You know, like Nick and Nora Charles or Mr. and Mrs. North.”

  “Joe likes to work alone,” Judith stated.

  “He always worked with a partner when he was on the force,” Jeremy pointed out.

  “That was different,” Judith said dryly. “Joe and Woody weren’t married.”

  Jeremy’s sky-blue eyes were pleading again. “Will you at least mention this to him?”

  Judith sighed. “I’ll see. Joe just got back from out of town. He has a lot of catching up to do. We’ll get back to you in a few days.” When I’m speaking to Joe again, Judith thought.

  Jeremy grimaced. “I don’t mean to rush you, but like I said, time is of the essence.”

  “Hmm,” Judith murmured, drumming her fingernails on the arm of the chair.

  “I mean,” Jeremy continued, “George Guthrie and I are talking about a thousand dollars a day, plus expenses.”

  Judith tried not to gape.

  Joe’s head popped into the open doorway. “I’ll take it,” he said. Then, seeing Judith’s look of astonishment, he added, “I mean, we’ll take it.”

  FIVE

  ALL WASN’T COMPLETELY forgiven, but at least Judith had gotten over her desire to crack Joe’s skull with the fireplace shovel. She also figured that his repentant mood was a propitious time to reveal Woody Price’s request.

  “Woody says the chief wants you on the citizens’ advisory board?” Joe asked, incredulous.

  The Flynns were sitting in the living room, where soft golden shafts of August sun slanted through the bay window. Renie and Bill had gone home, though they’d planned a detour to a fish cannery across the canal. The size and number of fish Joe and Bill had caught dictated that several salmon should be kippered, smoked, or otherwise canned for future use. The delicacies could be savored for months, even years, and in Judith’s case, she’d made sure that the Joneses had put in an order for several cans of paté. Guests who’d never tasted good salmon before were always amazed by the wonderful flavor.

  “It’s the chief’s program for citizen involvement,” Judith replied, growing more civil with each swallow of Scotch.

  Joe nodded. “The mayor put that bug up the chief’s behind. It’s all eyewash, just to take the heat off the department.”

  “I told Woody I’d do it, at least for a while,” Judith said, avoiding Joe’s green-eyed gaze. “For Woody’s sake. He seemed to be on the spot.”

  Joe made a face. “After ten years, I’d think you, of all people, would know when Woody’s pulling his poor-me-I-came-out-of-the-ghetto-and-need-all-the-help-I-can-get routine. You know damned well that Woody was raised as solid middle-class as we were. He uses that act with perps, especially black ones. You’re as gullible as they are.”

  “It’s his eyes,” Judith said. “They’re so soulful.”

  “Sometimes he puts glycerin drops in them so it looks like he’s tearing up,” Joe said. “He didn’t pull that one, did he?”

  “N-n-no,” Judith said uncertainly.

  Joe set his drink down on the glass-topped coffee table and held his hands palms up. “So you committed yourself.”

  “I didn’t want to,” Judith said truthfully, “but I also didn’t want Woody to get in trouble with the chief.”

  “Okay.” Joe sighed. “By the time this advisory board is set up, you may change your mind. Since it’s a city project, the bureaucracy will hem and haw for at least six months. For now, I need some background on this case. Let’s start by going over your misadventures on the murder mystery tour.”

  By the time Judith had finished, including every detail and nuance she could recall, the guests had started returning to Hillside Manor. They were all holdovers from Friday who had been out sightseeing and shopping. While Judith prepared the hors d’oeuvres, Joe sat at the kitchen table, studying the notes he’d made.

  “Except for being an exorcist from California, we don’t know squat about the victim,” he declared just as Judith was about to take the appetizer tray into the living room. “I’ll have to check with Woody on that. And Guthrie, since he hired her. Say, you never said what she looked like.”

  Judith juggled the tray and winced as she recalled the blood-stained corpse. “Ordinary. Probably above average height. Middle-aged, short dark hair, maybe touched up, rather heavyset. A bit too much makeup. She was wearing a blue pantsuit, off-the-rack.” She paused, trying to recall more details. “Sensible shoes. No jewelry.”

  “Not even a wedding ring?” Joe inquired.

  Slowly, Judith shook her head. “No, I’m almost sure she didn’t have one on. I’d have noticed it.”

  “You’re not a bad observer.” Joe grinned, following his wife into the living room.

  “Thanks,” Judith said dryly. She placed the tray on the gate-legged table, then offered Joe an ironic smile. “Am I still an idiot, or does snagging you a thousand-dollar-a-day job allow me to remove my dunce cap?”

  Joe took Judith’s hand, leading over to one of the matching sofas. “I’m really sorry about that, Jude-girl,” he said, looking sheepish as he placed a hand on her knee. “I was cranky when I got off the plane. I saw your picture in the morning paper and it sort of set me off. You have to realize that I worry about you. Getting involved in murder can be very dangerous.”

  “You made a career of it,” Judith pointed out.

  “That’s different,” Joe said, his hand straying further up Judith’s leg. “I was trained to be a homicide detective. I worked with a partner. And I always carried a weapon.”

  Judith searched Joe’s face. “Do you really worry about me?”

  Joe sighed and gave a little shake of his head. “Of course I do.” Leaning closer, he brushed her lips with his. “I didn’t put up with Herself for twenty-five years just to lose you when we were finally both free.”

  He was right. That quarter-century of separation had made their union even stronger. When Joe had fallen into a drunken stupor after his first encounter with fatal teenage overdoses, he had lost control. He had also lost Judith, as he allowed himself to be commandeered onto a plane to Las Vegas. He barely recalled the casino wedding chapel; waking up the next morning with the wrong Mrs. Flynn was indelibly etched on his memory. Seeking revenge and a father for her unborn child, Judith had married Dan McMonigle on the rebound.

  “Dan never worried about me,” Judith murmured, putting her arms around Joe. “Dan never worried, period. He let me do all of it for him.”

  Joe kissed Judith long and hard, then eased her backwards on the sofa. “He gave you plenty to worry about. Let’s not worry, let’s not talk.”

  Judith felt a twinge in her right hip. “Uh…Maybe we should wait. This sofa doesn’t have much support for my worn-out joints.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Joe promised, nuzzling her neck.

  Judith, however, continued to resist. “It’s after five-thirty. The guests may start coming down any minute.”

  Joe shook his head. “They know the social hour doesn’t start until six. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  Unbidden, the image of Mrs. Carrabas’s body floated across Judith’s mind’s eye. No doubt when Aimee Carrabas entered the Alhambra Friday, she’d thought she had plenty of time. But life was uncertain.

  Having shifted her weight to a more comfortable position, Judith smiled up at Joe. “Maybe we don’t have as much time as we think we do. But we have time enough. Now.” She hooked her fingers around his neck and drew him closer.

  The phone rang. Judith gave a start.

  Joe pressed on her shoulders. “Let it ring. The machi
ne can pick it up.”

  “What if it’s Mike? I can’t ignore my only child.”

  “He can leave a message.” Joe slid his hands under Judith’s cotton tee.

  “What if it’s Mother, calling from the toolshed?”

  “She never does that.”

  The phone stopped ringing. The magic eyes and the magic fingers were wreaking havoc with Judith’s senses.

  “Oh, Joe…” Judith sighed.

  The phone rang again. Judith froze in Joe’s arms. “Somebody really wants to get us.”

  “They sure do,” Joe said, swearing under his breath. “Okay, answer the damned thing before you have the wrong kind of fit.”

  Adjusting her clothes, Judith got off the sofa and hurried across the room as fast as her aching hips would permit. She grabbed the receiver from the cherrywood table just before it trunked over to the answering machine.

  “It’s for you,” Judith said in a breathless voice.

  Joe swore again. “Who is it?”

  Putting a hand over the mouthpiece, Judith shrugged. “Some man. I don’t recognize the voice.”

  Reluctantly, Joe got up from the sofa and took the phone from Judith. A puzzled expression crossed his face as he responded in monosyllables. After a minute or two, he stared at Judith.

  “What do you know about an ostrich named Emil?”

  Judith’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! His name is Emil?”

  Joe’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “You do know Emil, then.” He resumed speaking into the phone. “Yes, I guess Emil paid us a call, but I’m not able to take your case just now. I’ve got too many previous commitments. Sorry.” He paused, apparently waiting for the person at the other end to talk. “I wish you luck all the same,” Joe finally said and rang off.

  He moved toward Judith with open arms. “Where were we?”

  A noise from the entry hall made Judith retreat a step.

  “Hi, there,” said the tall, rawboned man who was either from Saskatchewan or South Dakota. Judith couldn’t remember which, but noticed that he himself looked a bit like an ostrich.

  “Oh, my—so many goodies!” exclaimed his stout little wife. “How nice!”

  Judith glanced at Joe. “Later,” she whispered.

  Again, Joe swore under his breath.

  Late that night, with the moon shining through the branches of the Rankerses’ cedar tree, the Flynns lay in each other’s arms, spent and happy.

  “Say, I forgot to ask you more about the ostrich,” Joe said.

  “Oh. He came into the yard the other day. Thursday, I think.” She yawned and snuggled closer to Joe. “Mother saw him first. I thought she was having one of her delusions. Renie called the humane society, but the ostrich—Emil—ran off before they got here.”

  “He belongs to a family named Baines a couple of blocks over and down the hill,” Joe replied. “Emil’s been gone for four days. The last sighting was in Falstaff’s parking lot early this morning. The poultry truck had just arrived for its delivery. It’s a wonder they didn’t grab Emil and try to sell him off in the butcher shop.”

  “Falstaff’s occasionally has ostrich for sale.” Judith laughed. “I’ve been too chicken—excuse the expression—to try it. So they wanted to hire you to find him?”

  “Right.” Joe was also chuckling. “I can’t take on anything else now that I’ve got this Carrabas investigation. It’s a good thing I wound up most of my other cases before I left for Alaska.”

  “You have to admit, an ostrich search would be different,” Judith remarked, and yawned.

  “True.” Joe hugged Judith. “Say, what about the jewelry stash? Did you see it?”

  “No,” Judith answered, yawning some more. “It was in the same unit where Mrs. Carrabas was killed, though. Renie might have glimpsed it when she was running to hide from the police. Are you figuring that the so-called treasure may be a motive for the murder?”

  “Sure. Wouldn’t you?”

  “That’s funny,” Judith said in a perplexed tone. “I hadn’t really thought about it. If anything, I guess I figured it might be part of a setup, too. You know—to get more publicity for Jeremy Lamar’s tours.”

  “That’s possible,” Joe said. “If it’s true, Jeremy better admit it quick. Even though tomorrow’s Sunday, I’ll meet with him and Guthrie. It doesn’t pay to let much time elapse when you’re investigating a homicide.”

  “So you’ve told me,” Judith responded in a drowsy voice. “What about Woody?”

  “He wasn’t home this evening,” Joe said. “I suppose he and Sondra and the kids went someplace. I’ll touch base with him tomorrow, too.”

  “Good.” Judith felt herself sinking into sleep.

  “Love you,” Joe whispered.

  Judith didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Joe knew, had always known, that she loved him without qualification. Which, she realized upon occasion, was why he could sometimes be a jackass and get away with it.

  After Mass, Joe headed for Woody’s home in the suburbs east of the lake. He would be back by one-thirty for his appointment with George Guthrie and Jeremy Lamar, which was scheduled for two o’clock at Hillside Manor.

  Judith spent the rest of the morning playing cribbage with Gertrude, who was still yapping about her TV appearance.

  “I looked pretty cute, didn’t I?” she chortled. “But how come they mixed up what I said? About those gruesome men you married, I mean. Did I miss something?”

  “No,” Judith said. “They did the same with my interview. They cut out certain phrases and sentences, then splice the rest together so that it doesn’t always come out exactly as we meant it.”

  “Hunh,” Gertrude snorted, using her automatic card shuffler to deal a new hand. “That’s dumb. Still, I got on TV, and Deb didn’t. Boy, is she jealous. Your turn, kiddo.”

  Judith played a card. “She is? That doesn’t sound like Aunt Deb.”

  “Oh, no? First off, she couldn’t believe I was on TV. She doesn’t watch the news like I do, she’d rather read the paper.” Gertrude paused to consider her hand. “Then she tells me that she didn’t know why they’d put me on the news just because you were at Alcatraz or some goofy place with Renie.” Gertrude paused again as Judith discarded. “Now why did you and Renie go to Alcatraz? Is that a prison or a restaurant?”

  “It used to be a prison,” Judith said, “and we didn’t go there. We went to the Alhambra Arms down at the bottom of the hill. You’ve been by there a million times. It’s that big old Spanish-style place.”

  “Oh.” Gertrude played again. “Lots of balconies and arches and metal grilles at the windows and doors. You sure it isn’t a prison?”

  “It’s not,” Judith assured her mother. “In fact, it’s not an apartment house anymore, either. It’s being turned into condos.”

  “Condos.” Gertrude huffed. “I don’t get it.”

  “They’re like apartments, except you own them instead of renting,” Judith said as she played her last card.

  Gertrude frowned and gazed around her tiny dwelling space. “You mean like this? Why don’t they call them can dos? This thing’s about as big as a tin can.”

  “Most of them are somewhat bigger,” Judith noted with a straight face as she began to count up the cards.

  “Anyway,” Gertrude continued, watching Judith like a hawk, “Deb said that her old boss, Mr. Whiffel, used to live there with his sister, so I know darned well she thought she should have been on TV instead of me.”

  “Oh,” Judith said. “I get it.” She didn’t, but arguing with her mother was as futile as the Charge of the Light Brigade.

  Gertrude took her turn to count, moving the pegs along the board with surprising alacrity. “Fifteen-two, fifteen-four, fifteen-six, a double run is eight, and His Nobs makes one more to put me out.” She cackled in triumph. “I win again.”

  “You crazy old coot,” Judith murmured, though her tone was not only affectionate, but admiring. It never ceased to amaze Judith that
no matter how addled her mother might seem otherwise, her card-playing skills were still razor-sharp.

  “So Deb wouldn’t admit how envious she was,” Gertrude said as Judith shuffled for a new game, “but I told her that I knew somebody who lived there, too.”

  Judith gazed at her mother with interest. “You do? Who?”

  “I forget.” Briefly, Gertrude looked confused, then perked up as she cut the cards and turned over the one on top of the deck’s lower half. “An ace. My play.”

  The game continued for almost five minutes before Gertrude suddenly pounded her fist on the card table. “Helen Schnell. She taught with your father at the high school. English, I think. Old maid, kind of homely. I think she was sweet on your father.”

  The name was familiar to Judith. “Someone mentioned her,” she said, searching her brain for the source. “Woody, maybe.”

  “She still alive?” Gertrude asked.

  “Yes. In fact,” Judith continued, “I recall now that she’s going to buy one of the condos.”

  “Hunh.” Gertrude made a face. “Sounds like her. She’s the kind who’d like to live in Alcatraz.”

  Joe invited Judith to sit in on his meeting with Messrs. Guthrie and Lamar. Not that he had much choice. Judith had already threatened to hide under the coffee table in the living room and eavesdrop. Since the coffee table was made of glass, it wasn’t a particularly viable idea.

  The two men arrived together in the big white van that bore Guthrie’s company logo. George didn’t look overly pleased to see Judith standing next to her husband in the entry hall.

  “You were there,” he said accusingly. “You found the body.” George turned to Jeremy. “Did you tell me about her?”

  Jeremy nodded jerkily. “Yes, George, I sure did. That’s why we decided to hire Mr. Flynn here.”

  “Okay.” George brushed past Judith. “Where do you want us?”