Here Comes the Bribe (15 page)

“Great.” Joe opened the rear door. He called Rodney's name several times, then shook him gently. There was no response except for a snuffling sort of snore. Joe shook him harder. “Damn! He's really out.”

“I can get Carl to bring our hose over,” Arlene offered. “We bought a much longer one this spring. I'm sure Mr. Schmuck would wake up if you sprayed him really hard.”

“And I'm sure the rental agency would charge me for the damage to the car,” Joe asserted. “Maybe Carl could help me haul Rodney into the house. Is he busy?”

“No, of course not!” Arlene exclaimed. “He's enjoying retirement so much. I love to see him relaxing and taking his ease.” She tapped a finger against her cheek. “Now, let me think where I last
saw him . . . Oh! Behind the washer and dryer. He's installing new outlets in another part of our downstairs. I hope he didn't get stuck against the wall. Look in the basement, Joe. I'll stay here with Judith in case Mr. Schmuck wakes up.”

“We should get out of the street,” Judith said to Arlene after Joe took off. “We're lucky nobody has hit us.”

“It's not luck,” Arlene asserted. “It's St. Christopher. Do you know some scholars say he never existed? What do scholars know? They only read books. Very dull books, I suspect. They have no imagination.”

“I still have a St. Christopher's medal for travelers in my car,” Judith said as they went back across the street.

“So do I.” Arlene looked down at the gutter. “Somebody dropped something. Maybe Casper. He does tend to be careless.” She bent down to retrieve what looked like some kind of pamphlet. “Hmm. It's for our state mental hospitals. Now, who do we know who's crazy? Let's start with some of our fellow SOTS parishioners. How about Francis Xavier Kloppenbluger? He wears a hairshirt, you know, and—”

“Let me see that,” Judith interrupted. “It may belong to one of my guests. They may have dropped it coming back to the B&B.”

“Which one of them is insane?” Arlene asked.

“All of them,” Judith replied, seeing Joe and Carl appear from around the hedge. “Come on, Arlene, let's go open the front door. Our guys will have to cart Rodney up to Room One.”

“Oh, dear,” Arlene murmured, accompanying Judith through the cul-de-sac, “I hope it doesn't affect Carl's hernia.”

“I didn't know he had one,” Judith admitted.

“He doesn't, but he's always talking about getting one like his father did. I told him I don't think they're necessarily hereditary. Or are they?” She paused at the bottom of the porch steps. “My Uncle Woofy in Blue Earth, Minnesota, had one. He got it carrying his wife, Plethora, across the threshold when they got married. She was rather large. Unfortunately, he dropped her. It's a
good thing she didn't fall on top of him or he'd have been crushed. Poor Uncle Woofy. He was always rather frail. Bowlegged, too, after that episode.”

“I doubt that carrying his bride . . .” Judith saw Joe get into the Honda's backseat. Carl blocked her view, so she couldn't see how Joe was coping with Rodney. “It's a good thing Mr. Schmuck isn't as big as your Aunt Plethora,” she remarked. “I'd better open the door.”

Both women went up to the porch. And waited. At least two or three minutes passed before they saw Carl turn around, bend down, and grab on to Rodney's legs. A few more seconds went by before Judith saw Joe emerge from the car carrying the rest of Rodney and kicking the Honda's door shut.

“At least they got him out of there,” Judith said. “He still seems to be out cold.”

“Maybe he's dead,” Arlene said. “Have you ever had two married people die at the B&B before? I can't actually recall.”

“Ah . . . no. It'd be a first.” And for Judith, not a very pleasant thought. Nor was she pleased to see that Joe was quite red in the face and Carl was panting as they came up the porch steps.

“Gangway,” Joe gasped as they carried the still-unconscious Rodney inside. “Sofa,” he croaked to Carl after they entered the hall.

“Oh, drat!” Judith exclaimed. “I don't want Rodney in the living room. He might be sick after he comes to.” She hurried inside with Arlene right behind her.

But Judith held her tongue when she saw Joe wiping perspiration off his forehead and Carl leaning against the mantelpiece. “Maybe,” she said meekly, “a couple of the guests can take him upstairs.”

Joe nodded curtly. “Fine. Come on, Carl, let's grab a beer and sit outside, where I don't have to look at any more of these crazy people.” The two men headed for the kitchen.

Arlene stared at Judith. “Did Joe mean us?”

“Who knows?” Judith picked up an afghan from the back of the vacant sofa and tossed it over Rodney. “Would you like a glass of wine? I need a drink.”

“No, thank you,” Arlene replied. “I should go home and figure out what I'm going to make for dinner. Do take care, Judith. You look a trifle . . . frazzled.”

“No kidding.” But Judith hugged Arlene. “You and Carl are wonderful neighbors—and friends.”

“Well, what are friends for?” Arlene asked. “Besides, you and your corpses do perk up the cul-de-sac. Most people tend to be rather dull.”

Judith smiled at the statement. But she thought to herself that “dull” might be kind of nice for a change.

She'd never admit, of course, that dull didn't become her.

K
eeping to her word, Judith opted for simple appetizers: crackers, cheese, and smoked oysters. The guests could like it or send out for more exotic tidbits. Just as she was about to take the tray into the living room, Elsie Kindred tapped gently on the half door.

“May I trouble you?” she asked. “George got bit by a squirrel.”

“That's too bad,” Judith said. “Is he okay?”

Elsie timorously entered the kitchen. “No. He insists it's infected. It is quite red. Are the squirrels around her rabid?”

“I doubt it. Did it happen at the zoo?”

“The zoo?” Elsie's thick brown eyebrows shot upward, almost colliding with her scraggly auburn bangs. “No. It was quite a ways from here, by a lake. There were lots of ducks there, too. They're very noisy, but otherwise, a very serene, peaceful . . . place. I can't find my antiseptic. I was sure I put it in my kit before we left home.”

“Actually, there should be some antiseptic in the medicine chest of the bathroom between your room and the Crumps'.”

“I checked there first.” Elsie looked apologetic. “There wasn't any.”

“I'll have to get some from the supply cupboard upstairs. Or you could get it instead,” Judith amended. “Just pour some into a glass.”

“Oh, yes, of course. There are glasses in our room. Thank
you. I'll do that now. I hope George has finished his prayers. He's trying to pray away the pain. Bless his heart.” She scurried off through the half doors.

Joe came through the back door. “I called Ethan Ethanson on my cell after Carl left. He was conned.”

Judith's curiosity was piqued. “Conned? How do you mean?”

“As in duped.” Joe opened the fridge. “I need another beer. Do you want me to make you a drink?”

“Yes, please. I was going to do that, but Elsie Kindred interrupted me. As a minister's wife, I wasn't sure she'd approve of her innkeeper hitting the sauce. How was Ethan conned?”

Joe removed the cap from a Molson's Ale. “He was contacted last Friday by a guy who said a Jim Johnson had told him Ethan's boss was his relative and he'd gotten his okay to play a practical joke on a builder friend. All he needed was to borrow a city inspector's badge over the weekend. Ethan didn't see any harm, so he obliged. He was too excited about his fishing trip to give it another thought.”

“It sounds plausible,” Judith said. “The reason, that is. But Jim Johnson? How many of those are in the phone book?”

Joe's expression was wry as he handed Judith her Scotch. “Enough to make the one who suckered Ethan hard to trace.”

Judith sipped some of her drink before asking what the impostor looked like.

“A little over average height; brownish hair; pleasant face; no distinguishing marks. What are you thinking?”

“About the so-called Ethan Ethanson who came here,” Judith replied. “He fits that description. Not someone who would stand out in a crowd, but he could also be the guy I saw sitting in the car as if on surveillance.”

Joe grinned. “So he came to spy on you—or your zany guests?”

“The latter, I assume. For all I know, he may've been spying on them from the time they got here. Maybe he's a PI. Hey, you might've run into him at some point.”

“Only if he's another retired cop,” Joe said. “We PIs try to keep out of each other's way. I'll go check to see if the coals are hot.”

Judith set out the appetizers in the living room. She had returned to the kitchen when the phone rang. To her surprise, the caller was Jack Hardy, the longtime funeral director from across the ship canal who had handled most of the Grover family's burials over the past half century.

“Jack!” Judith said in surprise. “I thought you'd retired.”

“I did,” he replied in his usual cheerful voice. “But once in a while my sons need Dad to give them a hand. We had three funerals over the weekend and already two more for this coming week. So many of these folks have moved here from other places—but you know that. If you read the obits, ninety-five percent of them were born somewhere else.”

“I'm well aware of that,” Judith said wryly. “In the past five years, I've heard from at least two dozen guests who visited here, liked it so much that they pulled up stakes and moved to our now bulging city.”

Jack chuckled. “It's good for business, though. At least my business. But that's not why I'm calling. One of my sons had a funeral out north today at Land of Eternal Repose. Afterward, when Jeff was in the cemetery office, the guy behind the desk asked if any of the funeral party had lost a wallet. Jeff had no idea, but he took a look, didn't recognize the name, but noticed whoever it was had one of your B&B cards in it. Does Clark Stone ring any bells with you?”

“It does,” Judith replied. “He's a guest who thought he'd lost his wallet while shopping up on top of the hill. He's here now, so I'll tell him to pick it up. Will you be around for a while?”

Jack chuckled again. “I'm not around now. Our office is closed. I'm at home. Say, my other son, Jake, has a meeting tomorrow up on the hill near Holliday's Drug Store. He can drop it off there. You know the Hollidays, right?”

“Sure. I'll let Clark know. He may be checking out tomorrow.” Or so Judith hoped. She thanked Jack and rang off.

Shortly after six, the guests straggled down in twos and threes. According to Joe, the spareribs weren't done and his gruesome mother-in-law was pitching a fit in the backyard. Judith poured a half inch of Scotch into what was left of her melted ice, took a big swig, and headed for the living room. All of the Schmuck party had gathered except Rodney. Joe and Carl had finally managed to get him upstairs after they'd finished their first Molson's.

Clark and Belle were seated at the baby grand piano, picking out some discordant chords. The rest of the party was engaged in desultory conversation and not necessarily with each other. The Reverend Kindred appeared to be delivering a sermon to the grandfather clock.

Judith smiled a greeting as she ran the gauntlet of guests to reach the far end of the long living room. She had to tap Clark's shoulder to get his attention.

“You wallet's been found,” she said, hoping to sound amiable. “It was at the cemetery north of the city, but it's been dropped off at Holliday's Drug Store on top of the hill.”

“Oh.” Clark looked puzzled. “What cemetery?”

“The one just north of the city,” Judith replied.

“I thought that was a golf course.” Clark looked at Belle. “Did we go to a cemetery since we got here?”

“I don't think so,” Belle replied. “But then I nodded off some of the time we were driving around checking out . . . the scenery.”

“Never mind that,” Judith said. “You can get your wallet back tomorrow.”

Clark wasn't perturbed. “That's okay. I don't need it now anyway. Sophie's picking up the tab tonight when we go out to dinner. Hey, Belle, what were those last chords you played? Was it the theme music from
Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
?”

Judith didn't want to know. She made her way back to the kitchen without any of the guests bothering to speak to her. That
suited her just fine. But she felt gloomy, not being able to remember a time when she felt so distanced from her visitors. Except maybe Rodney. Even if she wasn't his mother, she realized she was taking a maternal interest in the poor drunken sot. She took another swig of Scotch.

J
udith and Joe were still outside at seven o'clock, not having eaten dinner until six thirty. Gertrude had slammed the door on her toolshed apartment after stating that if the Flynns were trying to starve her to death, she was going to report them to CPS.

“Doesn't the old bat know that CPS is for children?” Joe asked.

“Maybe she thinks she can report her daughter and son-in-law to them for abusing her. You know Mother likes to tease us.”

“Tease us?” Joe's green eyes sparked. “How about torture us?”

“She finally consented to eat dinner,” Judith pointed out.

“But not with us,” Joe reminded his wife. “She took it inside her so-called ramshackle dwelling.”

“You know that was her choice after we got married. Mother refused to live under the same roof with you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Joe muttered.

The phone rang before Judith could defend either her mother—or Joe. Judith picked up the receiver and heard Renie's voice.

“Hey, coz,” she began, “I forgot to ask if Rodney ever produced the birth certificate or whatever proof he has that you're his mother. I assume you never found it while you were pillaging Room One.”

“No,” Judith replied. “For all I know, he had whatever the document is inscribed on the head of a pin. I don't think what I found burned in the barbecue was it, though. That looked like the remains of ordinary typing paper.”

“Nothing ordinary about Rodney,” Renie remarked. “Did he and the rest of the gang ever come back from wherever they went?”

“Unfortunately, they did.” Judith proceeded to relate the afternoon's adventures at the B&B while Joe dozed in the lawn chair.

“Gosh,” Renie said in mock surprise, “was that as much fun for you as it was for them?”

“Don't ask,” Judith replied. “They seem subdued tonight. They've been that way all day. Maybe they really are mourning Millie.”

“It
is
possible that they were fond of her. Or do you think they're merely hangers-on?”

“I don't know what to think,” Judith admitted. “But now that you brought it up, I'll ask Rodney about his proof that I'm his mother. If he ever sobers up enough to know what I'm talking about.”

“Do you think he's really drunk?”

Judith started to say yes, but paused. “That's an interesting question. Are you suggesting he could be doing drugs?”

“Well . . . no. But someone could've drugged him.”

“That's true,” Judith said in a thoughtful tone. “An empty liquor bottle doesn't mean he drank it. I wonder . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Keep speculating. I have to watch
Lonesome Dove
with Bill for the fourteenth time. It's a good thing I enjoy it as much as he does.” Renie hung up.

The guests left for dinner shortly after six. Judith hoped they'd stay away for hours. But she wondered if Rodney had gone with them. A little after eight, she went upstairs and rapped on Room One's door. There was no response. She tried the knob. It turned easily in her grasp. The room was still light enough so that Judith could see the bed was empty. Apparently Rodney had recovered sufficiently to join the others for dinner. Relieved that he wasn't still in an alcoholic stupor, she went back downstairs to join Joe in the living room.

“Well?” her husband said, looking up from an espionage novel he'd been reading. “Any sign of chaos upstairs?”

“No,” Judith replied, sitting down on the sofa next to Joe. “I will say this for the current guests—they're fairly tidy.”

Joe gave a slight shrug. “Good for them. You want to watch TV?”

“Not really. I'd rather just sit here next to you and be quiet.”

Joe put his arm around her. “Go for it. You've been under a strain. Any way we can take a break for a few days and maybe go up to Canada or down to the ocean?”

“I'd have to get Arlene and Carl to sub for us, but about now it sounds like a wonderful idea.” She snuggled closer. “In fact, just sitting here with you is kind of wonderful.”

“Kick back. The last few days have been rough.”

Judith nodded. In fact, she felt as if she could nod off. And did. When she woke up, it was almost ten. Joe apparently hadn't moved, but he'd finished his book. “I hate it when the good spy turns out to be a bad spy who is a double agent and the villain is a robot. Dumb book. Why don't we go to bed?”

“That's a good idea,” Judith said—and smiled.

T
he Flynns were both asleep by eleven o'clock. They never heard the guests come back. Tuesday morning brought a light drizzle, the kind that wouldn't last long, but might return later in the day.

Judith felt refreshed as she and Joe prepared breakfast. When eight o'clock rolled around, no one had yet appeared at the dining room table. As the schoolhouse clock ticked to eight thirty, she remarked that the guests must have made a late night of it. By the time it was going on nine, Phyliss Rackley had arrived. After a litany of her latest bodily aches and pains—and praise to the Lord that she could still stand up on her own two feet despite fallen arches—she started upstairs.

“The guests haven't yet come down,” Judith called after her. “Why don't you do the laundry first?”

“You know I have my routine,” Phyliss declared. “I'll tidy up the guest bathrooms. If they want to use them, they can ask. The
Good Lord gave them voices, didn't he?” She clumped off down the hall.

Judith's good mood was going bad. “The food will be inedible by the time they finally get down here,” she griped. “Are they all hungover?”

“Maybe not the rev,” Joe said. “Why do you care? You don't seem overly fond of them.”

Before Judith could reply, Phyliss came back into the hall. “Now, don't go calling me snoopy,” she said with a wag of her bony finger. “But the door to Room Six was ajar. I figured nobody was in there, so I had me a peek. I was right. Empty as the tomb on Easter Sunday. I went through the bathroom to take a peek into Room Five. Empty, too. In fact, all the rooms are empty. Maybe Satan took them in their sleep. Except the minister, of course.”

Judith didn't think that was the case. In fact, she didn't want to think about what had happened to her missing guests.

But she knew she had to do something. The guests weren't mere guests—but suspects.