Nutty As a Fruitcake Page 7

  Renie, who was still sitting on the table, managed to knock over the salt and pepper shakers. “It’d be a hearing, not a trial,” she explained, righting the shakers and tossing salt from Ginger Rogers over her shoulder in an unconscious superstitious gesture. Judith was reminded of Fred Astaire, flipping his partner in a graceful arc. Renie wasn’t nearly as agile.

  “They’d determine if George is fit to stand trial,” Renie continued, brushing salt from her sleeve, “which is probably dubious, given his age and apparent unstable mental condition. Media coverage would be minimal, so the family wouldn’t suffer much embarrassment.”

  Cautiously, JoAnne edged farther back on the chair. She seemed visibly relieved and glanced from one son to the other. “Maybe we should go to the hospital to see how Gramps is doing. Then…whatever happens, we could swing downtown and find that lawyer. Glenda will know her name.”

  “Right,” said the taller son.

  “No kidding,” said the balding Goodrich.

  With obvious relief, the trio headed for the back door. JoAnne hesitated on the threshold, giving the cousins a tremulous smile. “Are you sure you don’t mind staying here? I mean, it’s kind of…gruesome.”

  “We do gruesome real well,” Renie replied with a sly glance at Judith. “Don’t fuss over us.”

  JoAnne sighed with relief. “Gee, thanks! I appreciate it. I’m so glad we don’t have to sit around in this pathetic old house. It was bad enough to visit when Enid was alive, but now…” JoAnne lifted her thin hands in an expressive gesture.

  “Bummer,” said the tall son.

  “No kidding,” said the bald son.

  The three Goodriches beat a hasty retreat.

  “You’re going to have a sign on this property after all,” Renie predicted as the cousins wandered back into the living room. “It’ll be put up by a real estate company. The heirs can’t wait to unload this place, and I don’t blame them.”

  Judith nodded as she dared to leave the carpet runner and inspect the Queen Anne breakfront. “I doubt that it’s ever felt like home to any of them, George included.” She sighed. “Poor George. I wonder if he’s pulled through?”

  “We could call the hospital,” Renie suggested. Her eyes had strayed to one of the end tables. Its only adornments were a brass lamp and a framed photograph of Enid. The picture had been taken a long time ago, when she was still young and pretty. “Her eyes don’t smile,” Renie remarked, studying the curiously unappealing face. “And why is she wearing a pie on her head?”

  Judith was momentarily diverted from studying the break-front desk. “That’s a hat, dopey. The style always looked more like upside-down soup bowls to me. Our mothers wore them in the Depression.”

  “No wonder they were depressed,” Renie remarked, setting the photograph back on the end table. “But it’s kind of nice the way young women dressed up in those days. Enid couldn’t be more than sixteen in this picture. Yet there’s still something hard in that face. I wonder what George saw in her?”

  “Who knows? What did I see in Dan?” Judith couldn’t refrain from trying to open the desk. At first she thought it was locked, but after jiggling the front panel a bit, it fell forward on its hinges. “That’s odd,” she said, staring at the lock itself. “It looks as if it’s been forced. Look, there are a bunch of scratches in the wood.”

  Renie had joined Judith at the breakfront. “Those scratches look fresh. Enid wouldn’t like having her furniture defaced.”

  The cousins were exchanging curious glances when someone pounded at the front door. They could see only a blur through the amber bottle-glass panes. Cautiously, Judith turned the knob.

  “Yo-ho-ho,” exclaimed the man Judith knew as Patches Morgan. The black raincoat was lined in crimson, and the suit under it was a flamboyant shade of green. “Who have we here?” The brown eye that wasn’t covered by the patch held a hint of menace.

  Swiftly, Judith put out her hand. “I’m Judith Flynn, Joe’s wife. We met last spring at a department retirement party.”

  Morgan’s bushy black brows rose. “Ah! And what might you be doing here, Ms. Flynn?”

  Judith explained that she was a neighbor who had come with her cousin to help the bereaved family. “We were just leaving,” Judith fibbed.

  “A good thing,” Morgan replied, his right eye twinkling. “This is a crime scene. Detective Rael and I have work to do. Then we’ll put someone on site to keep trespassers out. We’re a bit short-handed this morning.” The eye still twinkled, but the deep voice conveyed a warning.

  “I guess we’ll be going then,” Judith said, her smile frozen in place. “Is it true that the weapon was…an ax?”

  The mouth under Morgan’s mustache turned stern. “Now, Ms. Flynn, you know we can’t make statements like that until we’ve checked everything through our forensics people.”

  “A knife?” Judith hazarded.

  Morgan was trying to conceal his impatience. “Not a knife,” he said. “Now run along, so we can do our job, eh?”

  Docilely, Judith and Renie trooped through the front door, down the three steps, and along the walk.

  Detective Rael was just getting out of the city car. The rain was coming down harder, and she brushed back her raven hair with a graceful hand.

  “Excuse me?” she called. “Are you witnesses?”

  Renie pretended not to hear, but Judith dutifully turned around. Once again, she went through her connection, both to Joe Flynn and the Goodriches.

  Detective Rael’s startlingly blue eyes widened. “So you’re Joe’s wife,” she said, almost in awe. “He’s a terrific cop. I’d love to work under him someday.” Her perfect oval face betrayed just the slightest leer. Or so Judith thought.

  “Joe’s very…conscientious,” Judith allowed, wishing Detective Rael weren’t so young, so beautiful, and so insinuating. “I don’t think I caught your first name.”

  “It’s Sancha,” the other woman replied with a toss of her raven hair. “It means ‘sacred.’”

  “It means trouble,” Renie muttered after the cousins had completed the exchange of pleasantries and were heading back to Hillside Manor. “Has Joe ever mentioned her?”

  “I don’t think so,” Judith replied, somewhat distractedly. “She must be new.”

  “New but used,” Renie said as she paused to admire the New England village. “No, I shouldn’t say that. I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice young woman.”

  “Right.” But Judith’s voice held a note of doubt. “Shall I switch on the lights so you can see how the village looks in its full splendor?”

  “No. I’ll come by after dark,” Renie responded. “Let’s go inside. It’s really coming down.”

  So it was, a pelting rain that seemed to contain a trace of snow. But as Judith and Renie stepped onto the back porch, the outdoor thermometer registered forty-two. The threat of colder weather seemed remote.

  Judith immediately headed for the telephone directory. “I forgot to ask where George is being treated. I’ll try Bayview Hospital first,” she said. “That’s where they usually take emergencies.”

  Judith was correct. The brisk voice on the other end of the line refused to give out any information except that a George Henry Goodrich had been admitted. Judith asked if his son or daughter might be available. The voice didn’t know and seemingly didn’t care. Judith hung up.

  “Blast,” she sighed, going to the window over the sink that looked out onto the Rankerses’ property. “Maybe Arlene can ferret out his condition. She and Carl aren’t back yet.”

  Renie was leaning against the refrigerator. “Are you going to feed me lunch, or do I have to go pick up fish and chips?”

  Judith glanced at the old-fashioned schoolhouse clock. It was almost noon. “We’ll both go. But let me fix a sandwich first for Mother. She hates fish and chips.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the cousins were sitting on worn vinyl seats in an old but semi-respectable restaurant at the bottom of Heraldsgate Hill. The Chris
tmas decor at Buster’s Cafe featured red paper bells and strands of silver tinsel that had long ago lost their luster. But the food was good, and Renie had managed to find a parking place by using her big Chev and harsh language to outmaneuver a smaller imported compact.

  “I’m worn out already,” Judith confessed. “Thank God Phyliss is putting in a full day. I should go Christmas shopping this afternoon. I still have to get gifts for Mike and Kristin and a little something extra for Mother.”

  “How about a muzzle?” Renie suggested, digging into her cole slaw. “I’m almost done shopping, except for the kids. If they don’t have twenty-five gifts apiece under the tree, they whine until Groundhog Day.”

  Judith knew that Renie was exaggerating—but not by much. The three Jones offspring were spoiled, even more spoiled than Mike Maybe. Judith was about to comment on the annual devastating expenditure of Christmas when she recognized a bearded man who was just entering the restaurant.

  “That’s Gary,” Judith whispered. “Glenda’s boyfriend. I’ve seen him with her at the Goodrich house.”

  Renie tried to stare discreetly over her shoulder. “Are you sure? He looks too young.”

  “It’s him. I recognize the jacket. He works with Glenda at Cascade Beer. I think he drives a truck.”

  Swiftly, Renie checked out the emblazoned jacket and the man who wore it. “I still say he’s too young. Forty, maybe? Glenda’s my age.”

  Judith shrugged. “Ten, fifteen years’ difference isn’t that much these days. Older women, younger men. I’m not sure, but I think Glenda and Gary have been going together for a couple of years.”

  At the moment, Gary was going to the counter. Judith chewed on her thumb, shot Renie a conspiratorial look, and jumped out of the booth. Sidling up to the unsuspecting Gary, she filled her voice with sympathy: “I’m so sorry about the family’s loss. How is Glenda doing?”

  Gary practically fell off the stool. “What? Glenda? Who are you?”

  Briefly, Judith thought she’d made a mistake. But she persevered. “Glenda Goodrich. Her mother was killed this morning, and her father’s very ill. Surely you’ve heard?”

  It appeared that Gary hadn’t. He reeled from the stool, walking back and forth in a daze between the counter and the booths. Several customers and a waitress stared. Judith waited patiently. To her surprise, Gary came to a sudden halt and frowned at her.

  “Rough luck,” he said, looking embarrassed as well as nervous. “I mean, it’s too bad about Glenda’s folks. But count me out. We broke up last night.”

  “Oh!” Briefly, Judith was taken aback. Putting a hand on Gary’s arm, she gestured at the booth where Renie was blissfully devouring chunks of fish. “I’m Judith Flynn, a neighbor. Why don’t you join my cousin and me so that we can fill you in?”

  Gary seemed bewildered. The neatly trimmed beard was straw-colored, as was his curly hair. At a shade under six feet, Gary was broad-shouldered but carried an extra twenty pounds. The hooded hazel eyes were wary as he considered Judith’s invitation.

  “I’ve only got half an hour for lunch,” he began, then apparently was overcome by curiosity. He turned back to the counter, calling to a weary-looking waitress. “Hey, Angie—make that the usual. I’ll be in the booth.”

  Judith introduced Gary to Renie. In the process, the cousins learned that Gary’s last name was Meyers. “I know we’ve never met,” Judith explained as Angie brought coffee refills. “But I’ve seen you with Glenda. I’ve known her and Art since we were little kids. Renie knows the family, too.”

  The cousins’ credentials didn’t seem to impress Gary. “So what happened to the old lady and what’s-his-name?”

  Judith tried to be tactful as well as cautious in relating the grisly events at the Goodrich house. Gary reacted with appropriate horror. A nerve next to his right eye twitched, and he rubbed at it in agitation.

  “Mrs. G. was a bitch on wheels, always on somebody’s case,” he said as his order was delivered. “The usual” was a cheeseburger with fries and several slices of raw onion. “I tried to steer clear of the old girl. My ex-wife was a nag. That’s why she’s my ex. Why can’t women learn to shut up?”

  “Because men don’t learn to listen,” Renie put in. “Not all women nag. And sometimes men do listen. Now take my husband, Bill…”

  Judith didn’t want Renie to get launched on the topic of Bill. Renie would go on forever, even—especially—if she intended to heap praise upon her mate. Judith managed to distract her cousin by attempting to steal her tartar sauce.

  The ruse worked. Judith turned back to Gary, who was sitting next to her in the booth. “Mrs. Goodrich wasn’t a pleasant woman. I hate to say that, but it’s true. I hope you and Glenda didn’t break up because of her mother.”

  For just a brief instant, Gary’s fleshy features hardened. Then he laughed in a forced manner. “Let’s just say there was too much family, okay?”

  The table grew silent. Judith munched on the last of her fries, trying to think of an appropriate comment. None came to mind. Gary and Glenda were kaput. There was no reason, other than ordinary human curiosity, why he should care what happened to the Goodriches. Nor did Judith have any reason to press questions upon Gary Meyers. Giving herself a little shake, she glanced at Renie.

  “We’d better go if you’re Christmas shopping this afternoon.” Judith picked up her bill, then waited for Gary to get up so she could exit the booth. “It was nice meeting you, Gary. Have a merry Christmas.”

  Judith thought Gary looked relieved. His mouth was full of cheeseburger. He nodded, waved, and turned his full attention to his meal. The cousins stopped at the register, then went outside into the rain.

  “I’ll take you home,” Renie said. “Then I’m heading downtown.”

  Judith paused in the middle of fastening her seat belt. “We’re halfway to town already. I’ll go with you. I can call Phyliss and Mother from there to let them know where I am.”

  Renie gestured at the restaurant they’d just left. “Call from here. There’s a phone by the entrance to the bar.”

  Judith went back inside. Phyliss answered almost immediately. “What did you spill on the kitchen floor?” she demanded. “It’s so greasy. I’ll bet you let that awful cat eat off of it.”

  Naturally, Judith denied the accusation. But she wondered. She always did when it came to Sweetums.

  “In the kingdom to come, there won’t be any cats,” Phyliss declared. “They’re wild things, worshipped by those Egyptians, who didn’t know any better. Have you ever seen Moses petting a cat?”

  “I’ve never seen Moses,” Judith replied. “If I run into him downtown, I’ll ask.”

  “Now see here,” Phyliss huffed, “don’t you start blaspheming! I won’t put up with such ungodly talk! That’s one of the reasons I quit working for Enid Goodrich. She was always contradicting me about religion.”

  Judith felt a passing pang of sympathy for Enid. Humbling herself, Judith tried to make amends. She didn’t want to anger Phyliss, especially not now, with the holiday season upon her.

  The call to Gertrude was mercifully brief. Gertrude was watching a talk show. “Freaks of nature,” she said. “People who are completely abnormal. You know, like your husband.” Gertrude hung up.

  Coming out of the darkened entrance to the bar, Judith all but bumped into Gary Meyers, who was leaving the dining area. Gary reacted as if he’d been attacked by aliens. Judith apologized.

  “I had to make a couple of phone calls,” she said, wondering why she felt an explanation was necessary. “There’s so much to do this time of year.” Judith winced at her own meaningless chatter. “The morning just flew by, with all the trouble at the Goodriches’.”

  Gary had opened the door for Judith and was now standing on the sidewalk, his hands stuffed inside the pockets of his Cascade Beer jacket. His expression was still nervous, even wary. “Trouble is right. That family was born for trouble. Maybe Glenda’s okay, but the rest of them…” He shook his
head in a hapless manner. “Women! They’re the real troublemakers!”

  Renie was honking the horn. Judith gave Gary a feeble smile and hurried to the car. Oblivious to the rain, Gary remained on the sidewalk, staring vacantly down the street.

  “The meter ran out while you were on the phone,” Renie said as they pulled into traffic. “The parking violation goons watch this area like vultures. I got a ticket last month for parking in front of a fire hydrant.”

  “I should think so,” Judith said reasonably. “It’s illegal.”

  “Which is stupid,” Renie countered, taking up two lanes at once. “Nothing was on fire. Why should a parking space go to waste on the off chance that the store I’m shopping in is going to ignite? How often have you been anywhere and had the place go up in flames before you’d paid for your purchases? No such luck, right?”

  “You mean a fire sale?” Judith asked with a droll smile. “Coz, you’re drifting to the right.”

  “Oh, good grief! First you tell me how to park, now you’re teaching me to drive! Why do you and Bill and my mother and the kids think I don’t know how to drive after over thirty years on the road?” Renie ran an arterial, causing two cars to come to a screeching halt and several horns to erupt in frantic honking. “Do you know that I got a commendation this year from our insurance company because I have such a good safety record?”

  “Luck,” Judith said under her breath. Fortunately, the comment was drowned out by a man in a truck who was yelling that Renie was going the wrong way on a one-way street. “Coz…” Judith began as terror enveloped her.

  But Renie had swung around a corner. “Okay, so I forgot which way the damned street went. As my father once said when he got stopped for going north on a southbound street, ‘I know it’s one-way. That’s what I was doing—going one way.’” Renie shrugged.

  Judith closed her eyes. She remembered Uncle Cliff’s erratic driving only too well. While Renie had inherited some of her father’s more admirable qualities, his road skills—or lack thereof—also resided in the genes.

  Miraculously, the cousins arrived downtown in one piece. They spent the next three hours trooping from Donner & Blitzen to Nordquist’s to The Belle Epoch. By the time their feet and their money had given out, each had acquired most of the items on their respective lists. At precisely four o’clock, they were in the car again, breathing heavily.