Here Comes the Bribe (17 page)

“A silver Nissan—I think,” Judith said.

“Close enough,” Renie murmured. “Unless they put the cars in the garage.”

“Don't ask for trouble,” Judith said as they pulled up by the mailboxes.

Renie got out to have a look. “Just names. Darn. There's a blank box. I'll bet that belongs to the Schmucks. Hey—these suckers aren't locked. Let me see if Rodney and company have any mail.”

Judith started to protest, but reconsidered. “Well?” she
inquired as her cousin sorted through what looked like mostly circulars and junk mail. “Anything of interest?”

“A couple of bank statements from California,” Renie answered. “A county utility bill. Something from an L.A. doctor's office. Maybe that's a bill, too.” She shoved the mail back in the box and got back behind the wheel. “No clue where the house is, though.”

“We'll find it,” Judith said as she spotted a big colonial with a tasteful sign on the lawn that read
FARQUHAR
'
S FARM
. “Some farm. What do they raise? Hundred-dollar bills?”

“Rich people don't use real money,” Renie declared. “It's too vulgar.”

After ten minutes, it seemed to Judith that they were going in circles as they wound around the narrow road, uphill and down, an occasional elegant mansion in the distance, a glimpse of the Sound and the snow-covered mountains beyond.

“Remember,” Judith said, “we're looking for a fairly modern house.”

“Most of these homes are more traditional,” Renie pointed out as a pair of chipmunks scampered across the road in front of them.

“I feel as if we're lost,” Judith complained after another five minutes had passed. “Have you any idea where we are?”

“Still in the USA,” Renie replied. “Or not. That house on the hill looks like a French château. Maybe we should've brought our passports.”

But a moment later Judith saw what appeared to be the blue Honda. “There's another car in front of it in the drive. Yes, it's the Nissan. But I can't see much of the house from here.”

Renie reversed enough to turn off of the road. “Shall I drive up to where those cars are parked or do we arrive by stealth?”

“We're not burglars,” Judith asserted. “Go ahead and pull in.”

As they approached the parked cars, the large, rambling house became more visible. “It looks like a ranch house on steroids,” Renie remarked. “Whoever built it should've had their architect committed.”

“Maybe that's why somebody was calling the L.A. County Department of Mental Health,” Judith said.

Wide concrete steps led up to the front porch, which was surprisingly small given the size of the house. A large picture window was at the right of the front door, but the drapes were closed. Renie used the sleek brass ring that served as a knocker.

“Listen,” she said in a low voice. “It set off chimes.”

Judith leaned closer. “Not very melodious, just a few notes,” she murmured.

“It's the Fate motif from
Carmen,
” Renie whispered. “The previous owners must've been opera buffs.”

Elsie Kindred opened the door. “Mrs. Flynn!” she exclaimed. “What a surprise. We were expecting the fumigator.” Her eyes darted to Renie. “Is she it? I mean . . .” Elsie grimaced.

“I'm the podiatrist,” Renie declared. “But never mind that now. How's Rodney?”

“He's resting,” Elsie replied, looking ill at ease. “The poor man is utterly worn out from the trauma of losing his wife. George was praying with him, but Rodney nodded off. I'd ask you in, but everything is in such a muddle. Dear Millie—rest her soul—hadn't yet finished furnishing all of the rooms.”

Judith moved a step closer and put a hand on Elsie's arm. “I was so sorry you all left without giving me a chance to say good-bye. Did Clark get his wallet back? I've been worried about him. I hope his money and credit cards were all there.”

Elsie frowned. “I have no idea. Clark and Belle were in the other car. We all got here within a few minutes of each other, though.”

“Would you mind if we came in so I could talk to Clark?” Judith asked in her warmest tone.

“Ah . . .” Elsie darted a glance over to her right. “Clark has joined some of the others in the sitting room for prayer with my husband. Perhaps I could have Clark call you when you get home.”

“Oh.” Judith's expression conveyed deep disappointment. “But
I so much wanted to say good-bye to Rodney. I feel just terrible about having Millie die at my inn. I've never had such a terrible thing happen to me. It weighs on my conscience. I'm sure the reverend would understand.”

Elsie's round face expressed mixed emotions. “My, I don't know what to say. I can't interrupt the prayer service, you see. It may be a while because they only began to pray a few minutes ago.”

“That's all right,” Judith said, putting one foot on the threshold. “We're in no hurry. Since you all left without any notice, I may not have any guests coming this evening and . . .” She stopped and bit her lip.

Renie put a hand on Judith's arm. “It's a financial hardship for my cousin. She depends on having the B&B occupied every night of the year to make ends meet. She supports her aged mother, you know. I believe you met Mrs. Grover at the séance.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Elsie exclaimed. “Mrs. Grover is very gifted. She told us that my husband would someday become the second Martin Luther. Or,” she said suddenly, frowning, “was it Martin Luther King? But wouldn't George have to change color?”

“All things are possible with God,” Renie declared solemnly.

Elsie still seemed puzzled. Judith took advantage of the minister's wife's uncertainty to squeeze past her and go inside. “If we could wait until everyone finishes praying . . . it would make me feel so much better to have a word with Rodney in particular, though I don't like to disturb his rest. All of you went through a harrowing experience under my roof.”

Elsie nodded vaguely. “Please make yourselves comfortable in the drawing room,” she said somewhat timorously. “Would you like a cup of hot tea?”

“That would be wonderful,” Judith said with a smile. “Traffic was busy this afternoon. My nerves are frayed.”

Elsie nodded and disappeared via the hall.

“Sheesh,” Renie muttered, flopping onto an orchid-damask settee. “Who furnished this room? Everything looks like it came
out of the back end of the warehouse. It's beyond eclectic, it's a symptom of decor madness.”

Judith's eyes roamed over her surroundings. Modern, Victorian Provincial, and a few odd-lot pieces that might have come out of the Great Depression littered the room. “I thought I had some diverse items. Of course I inherited most of Grandma and Grandpa Grover's furniture.”

“It suits your house,” Renie asserted. “This stuff doesn't fit even a poorly designed ranch house. I wonder if they brought it from L.A.—or Goodwill.”

Judith stood up. “Stay put. I'm going to eavesdrop.”

“Don't,” Renie urged, also getting to her feet. “You'll have to bend way down to listen at the keyhole. If there is a keyhole. I'll do it.” She hurried off across the hall.

Judith tried to relax, but the mohair armchair felt lumpy. After a minute or so had passed, Renie returned, grinning.

“They're not praying,” she announced. “They're playing—bingo. I heard two winners shout at the same time. Is that Agnes's idea? She's the only Catholic and heaven knows we love our bingo.”

Judith laughed. “Could be. It's a wonder they didn't try a séance.”

“I wonder if the reverend is playing,” Renie said, sitting down. “It might be against his religion.”

Judith started to speak, but heard voices. “The games must be over,” she whispered, trying to glimpse her ex-guests.

A moment later, Stuart Wicks sauntered into the drawing room. He paused in midstep when he saw the cousins. “My word,” he said in a disapproving tone, “what are you two doing here?”

“We just happened to be in the neighborhood,” Renie replied. “We have old friends in Sunset Cliffs.”

“They don't live in Heaven's Gate,” Stuart snapped.

Judith thought it best to intervene. “We felt remiss at not saying good-bye to you and the others, especially Rodney. He worries me.”

Stuart shrugged. “Rodney is not to be worried about. He drinks, therefore he's fine.”

“Nobody who drinks to excess is fine,” Judith asserted. “Have any of you and his other friends tried an intervention?”

“Neither my wife nor I believe in meddling in other people's affairs,” Stuart declared with a lift of his sharp chin.

“But,” Judith said, “Cynthia is a family counselor. Surely she's concerned about Rodney's reliance on alcohol. Your wife must feel duty-bound to help him. Unless,” she added, “it's only Millie's death that has temporarily unhinged her husband.”

Stuart sneered. “You're meddling. I must ask you to leave.”

Renie stood up. “Gladly. There's a noxious air in this dump and I don't think it has anything to do with booze. Come on, coz, let's get out of here and call the cops.”

“I beg your pardon!” Stuart shouted. “On what grounds? I'm an attorney, remember?”

“We can't forget,” Renie shot back. “So what? I'm a podiatrist.”

The cousins made their exit, leaving an uncharacteristically bewildered Stuart Wicks behind them.

T
hat,” Judith declared as they got into the Camry, “was not our finest hour.”

“Can't win 'em all,” Renie muttered. “Stuart may be the biggest jackass in the bunch.”

“He's not a likable guy,” Judith conceded. “You know, I think you're right about Rodney. Yes, he may drink too much, but someone—maybe several someones—may be keeping him drugged. But to what purpose?”

“Money?” Renie responded as they reached the main road. “That's the usual reason.”

Judith nodded. “They may try to convince him he should sign everything over to Belle. Then, given his daughter's space-case history, they'll fleece her. Of course, if she marries Clark, she'll become Cynthia and Stuart's daughter-in-law. That's a frightening scenario.”

“I'll bet that was the original plan,” Renie said, driving much faster than Sunset Cliffs' twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit. “But Millie dies and the wedding's postponed. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Wicks are afraid Belle will back out at the last minute.”

“You don't think she's in love with Clark?”

“I don't know,” Renie admitted. “They
seem
like a real couple. But they're young and they might decide to live together. I get
the impression they've been doing that all along or they wouldn't have shared the same bed at the B&B. If Belle would stop puffing the funny stuff, she might wise up and tell her would-be in-laws to take a hike.”

“Young people these days have—slow down! There's someone . . .” Judith held her breath as Renie swerved to miss a woman who had been walking on the road rather than on the verge.

“Moron!” Renie cried. “Why are rich people too tight to have sidewalks? Or don't they ever walk anywhere except on golf courses?”

“Slow down,” Judith said, this time more calmly.

“I already have,” Renie snapped. “I didn't hit anybody, did I?”

“No, but I think that was Belle.” Judith turned to look behind them. “Yes, now I can see her head-on. Pull over. Let's find out what she's up to.”

“She was almost up on Cammy's grille,” Renie declared, annoyed.

“It wouldn't be the first time you put somebody up there,” Judith shot back. “Remember the forest ranger by Snosalamie Falls?”

“I thought he was a mailman,” Renie said, pulling over to stop. “Or was that up by the family cabins?”

“Never mind.” Judith opened the car door. “Your adventures behind the wheel are a cross between watching NASCAR and
COPS
on TV. Here comes Belle.”

“Here goes Renie,” her cousin murmured. “I wish.”

Judith ignored the comment and got out of the car. “Hi, Belle. Do you need a lift?”

The young woman halted in midstep and peered at Judith. “Mrs. Flynn? How come you're here?”

“I wanted to check in on your father,” Judith replied. “But he was resting when we stopped at Heaven's Gate. How is he coping?”

Belle shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Worn out. Who wouldn't be?”

Judith noted that Belle's eyes seemed normal, though she looked faintly haggard. “Of course. Will your mother's funeral services be held here or in L.A.?”

“I don't know,” Belle replied in a heavy voice. “Reverend Kindred insists we have a memorial for Mom at his church down there, but . . . well, she wasn't all that religious and I hate funerals. I mean, who likes them, really? They're always so sad.”

“They're supposed to bring closure,” Judith said.

Belle's eyes sparked. “Isn't being dead enough closure for anybody?”

“It's not for the person who died, but for the loved ones they leave behind.” Judith felt faintly hypocritical. Her mind flashed back to Dan McMonigle's service. He'd died at forty-nine, all four hundred and five pounds of him, virtually bedridden for the last few months. Judith had felt only relief—not just for Dan to be out of his misery, but for her husband of nineteen years to be out of her life. She forced a slight smile. “You know your mother is . . . on her cloud.”

Belle made a face. “I guess. I wrote a poem about it.” Her expression changed to quizzical. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Renie replied, staring straight ahead.

“Can I have a lift to that shopping area south of the golf course?” Belle asked. “It's kind of a long walk from here.”

“Sure,” Judith said before Renie could say no. “Hop in the backseat. Where do you want to be dropped off?”

Belle didn't respond until she was inside the car. “Actually, the place I want to go is about a half block off the main drag on the left. You don't have to turn off. I can walk that far.”

Judith didn't make a further offer, lest her cousin pitch a fit. “Do you mind walking back?” she asked as Renie hit the gas and once again broke the speed limit to get out of Sunset Cliffs.

“No,” Belle answered. “It's what? Less than a mile. I guess I should have taken one of the rental cars, but I felt like walking.”

Renie pulled over by the cross street. “Watch out for traffic.
Some people drive too fast around here.” She ignored Judith's glare.

“Thanks,” Belle said, opening the rear door. “I'll be fine.”

“Will she?” Renie asked as Belle headed for the crosswalk.

Judith sighed. “I can't worry about everybody.”

“Yet you do,” Renie said with a smile as they drove on. “I wonder where she's going. There aren't any businesses on that street.”

“No commercial enterprises,” Judith agreed. “But you recall the two-story building that looks like a business, but has no sign?”

“Vaguely,” Renie responded. “Why?”

“It's a rehab center,” Judith responded. “I wonder if she's checking it out for her father.”

R
ight after Renie drove off from Hillside Manor, Tyler Dooley pedaled his way up to the B&B. Farley was running behind him. “Hey, Mrs. Flynn,” he shouted before she could reach the front steps, “what happened with your guests? Their rentals were gone this morning when I left for school. Did they check out? My cousin Petey got up before I did and he told me he'd seen some of them outside. Two of the men were carrying another guy over to the Nissan.”

“What time was that?” Judith asked.

“I'm not sure,” Tyler replied. “Petey just turned five and he can't tell time yet. But it was light enough that he could see outside when he got up to go to the bathroom. I checked the computer and the sun rises this time of year around four thirty.”

“It would've been earlier than when Joe and I wake up at six,” Judith said. “We never heard them leave. The Schmuck party must've sneaked out while most people in the neighborhood were still sleeping.”

“Except Petey,” Tyler pointed out.

Judith smiled. “Yes. Good for Petey. When he gets a little older, maybe you can recruit him as a junior sleuth.”

“He's a curious little guy,” Tyler said. “Do you mean the Schmucks skipped on your bill?”

Judith shook her head. “I've already charged them on Mr. Schmuck's credit card for the nights they stayed here. I'm good on that.”

Tyler looked disappointed. “So they won't be back?”

“I don't think so,” Judith replied. “They all went to the house in Sunset Cliffs that Mr. and Mrs. Schmuck bought earlier this year. I'm afraid this sleuthing episode is over. I'm sorry, Tyler.”

“That's okay,” he said, after a pause. “Maybe next time.”

“I'd just as soon there wouldn't be a next time,” Judith confessed.

Tyler shrugged. “But there usually is, right?”

Judith grimaced. “If there ever is, let's hope the body isn't found on my property.”

“Right.” Tyler grinned. “Did you say Sunset Cliffs?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“My dad's boss at the construction company lives there,” he replied. “Mr. Quincy. Well, he's not the boss on the jobs, but he owns QQQ Construction. In fact he calls his house Quincy's Quaint Quarters. I guess it's kind of like one of those big mansions in England. My parents have gone to a couple of big parties there.”

“Interesting,” Judith murmured.

Tyler's face brightened. “You think Mr. Quincy knows something about the Schmucks?”

“He probably hasn't even met them,” Judith said. “The homes out there are spaced quite far apart.”

But she mentally filed away Quincy's name. Just in case she was still on the case.

T
he first thing Judith did when she got inside Hillside Manor was check her phone calls. Ingrid Heffelman of the B&B associa
tion had left a brusque message: “I have two reservations for you tonight. Irwins, retired couple from Topeka; two widows from Boston, Schuster and Brewster. No, I am not kidding. What happened to your full house? Did your crazy housekeeper scare them away?”

Judith was grateful that Ingrid obviously didn't know one of the recent guests had died while staying at the B&B. After pouring herself a glass of ice water, she sat down at the counter to see if she had received any reservations via e-mail. There were none, but there was a message from Key Largo Bank. Judith read through it with a sinking sensation.

We regret to inform you that the credit card in the name of Mrs. Rodney Schmuck was canceled as of midnight Sunday, May 21. The charge of payment to Hillside Manor cannot be honored
.

Judith grabbed the phone and dialed Renie's number. The phone rang four times before her cousin answered in a gasping voice.

“What's wrong?” Judith asked.

“I had to stop off at Falstaff's to pick up some sockeye salmon for dinner tonight,” Renie replied, still out of breath. “I just came in the door. Bill must have gone on his walk. Why are you calling me? I just saw you ten minutes ago.”

“Fifteen,” Judith said. “But skip that. The Schmucks stiffed me on the B&B charges. I got an e-mail from the bank. The credit card was in Millie's name, not Rodney's, and they must have canceled it right after she died. I never saw the actual card. I only had the number and the other information I always need.”

“That's weird,” Renie responded. “Why would anyone rush on a weekend to cancel a deceased's credit card? Especially if the spouse had it in his possession. Or did he?”

“I told you, I never saw the damned thing. I took it over the phone when Rodney called to confirm the reservation. That was a couple of weeks before—wait. It wasn't over the phone. It was via e-mail.”

“But don't you usually ask for an imprint of the card when the guests show up?”

“Yes,” Judith replied, “but between Rodney insisting I was his mother and all the craziness that followed, I never got around to doing that. Then the next morning Millie was dead. I guess I got distracted.”

“You always were kind of ADD,” Renie remarked drily. “Too bad I wasn't there that morning to bail you out. But as you well know, I don't do mornings.”

“Right,” Judith agreed glumly. “If you'd stumbled over Millie's body in the backyard before eleven o'clock, you'd probably have kept going and crashed into the birdbath.”

“So? Aunt Gert would've come out to rescue me,” Renie shot back. “She has a good heart under that crusty facade.”

“If you can cut through the crust to get to it,” Judith grumbled. “What really bothers me is that the Schmucks seem to be loaded with money and yet they cheated me. Wouldn't that make you mad?”

“I never work for people, only big corporations,” Renie replied, sounding serious. “If any of them tried to gyp me I'd call Bill's brother, Bub, and sic his firm's underlings on them. I am not without resources when it come to business.”

“Maybe
I
should call Bub,” Judith huffed. “I do know him fairly well after all these years.”

“Go ahead,” Renie said. “Don't forget he was the first one to get the zoning laws changed on the hill so his high-flying builder client could put up those big condos above your property.”

“I had forgotten that,” Judith muttered. “Oh, well, it was bound to happen with the city growing so fast. Speaking of high-fliers, how well do you know Trevor Boyd from the bank?”

“I told you, I've met him a couple of times,” Renie said. “He may not remember me. I was just another peon doing a job for him.”

“You're not the forgettable type,” Judith declared. “There are
times when I'd like to forget you, but I can't. Besides, I assume you were on your best behavior when you were with him.”

“I was—except for the deep-fried prawns incident. I dropped one in his bespoke pants cuff. Luckily, he didn't notice it at the time. He was too engrossed with my cleavage.”

“That's kind of what I meant,” Judith said.

“But he probably wouldn't recognize my face,” Renie pointed out.

“Then ditch the crummy sweatshirt and wear something with a V-neck,” Judith urged.

“Hey!” Renie yipped. “You've got some loony idea about getting inside the Schmuck house! Why don't we just pitch a damned tent in the woods around there and pretend we're Indian scouts? That wouldn't be any goofier than me playing the role of a bodacious boob. Or should I say, ‘showing off my—'”

“Okay, okay,” Judith interrupted. “Maybe it wasn't one of my smarter plans. I keep forgetting we're kind of old.”

“So's Trevor Boyd,” Renie retorted, “but that doesn't mean I'd do it. You'd be better off having Bub get your money back and forgetting about the Schmucks.”

Judith sighed. “You know I can't do that.”

“Yes, I do.” Renie's sigh was audible over the phone line. “We need a more inventive plan. Hey, who do we know who could play gardener?”

Judith considered the idea. “How about Tyler Dooley?”