Here Comes the Bribe (24 page)

“I think,” Renie said, returning to the kitchen, “the cocktail hour has arrived early. I'll make us each a short one.”

“Why don't you and Bill have dinner with us again tonight?” Judith suggested.

“I'd have to go pick up Bill,” Renie replied. “He's probably still taking his postwalk nap.” She smiled. “You're antsy. You don't want to be left alone.”

“I won't be alone,” Judith said. “Joe didn't run away from home.”

Renie was still smiling. “You know what I mean. You need your older if not always wiser cousin to prop you up while you're grounded.”

Judith smiled back. “You're right. ‘Closer than sisters.' Isn't that what we've always said?”

Renie nodded. “And the good part was that when we got mad at each other, we could ask our mothers to send the other one home.”

Before Judith could respond, Joe came through the back door. “I squelched your latest harebrained idea,” he announced, hanging his jacket up in the hall.

“What idea?” Judith asked.

“Tyler Dooley,” Joe replied, entering the kitchen, where Renie was getting the liquor out of the cupboard. “Oh, hi. I should've guessed you'd show up to cheer your cousin.”

“What about Tyler?” Judith asked. “I haven't seen him today.”

“Are you sure about that?” Joe asked, his green eyes narrowed.

“Yes!” Judith snapped. “The only time I left the house was to have lunch with Mavis. I've been here ever since. Ask Renie. She knows what I've been doing.”

“It's true,” Renie said to Joe. “Stop acting like Torquemada. Your wife hasn't had a very good day. In fact, why don't you get back in the MG and pick up Bill? We're having dinner here tonight.”

“Again?” Joe said.

“Hey!” Renie shouted. “Are Bill and I imposing on you? I provided the sockeye salmon last night, you jerk.”

Joe sighed. “Okay, okay. I can't take on both of you.”

“What about Tyler?” Judith asked.

“He called to me from over the fence just now,” Joe replied in his more normal tone. “One of the older kids—I can't keep all of that brood straight—was heading out north after dinner to see one of his buddies. Tyler said he was going with him and getting
dropped off at Sunset Hills so he could snoop around. I told him that was a bad idea.” He kept his gaze on Judith. “Was that
your
idea?”

“No,” Judith said. “I agree with you about Tyler going out there. Did you convince him not to pull a stunt like that? How would he get in?”

Joe shrugged. “Climbing the fence, maybe. It could be done by an agile kid. Hell, for all I know he could pole-vault over it.”

Renie had picked up her purse. “I'm off. I've had a good time, but this wasn't one of them.” She started for the back door.

“Coz!” Judith cried, following her cousin into the hall. “Are you going to pick up Bill?”

“No,” Renie replied, her hand on the doorknob. “I know when I'm not wanted. I intend to make beef Stroganoff for my husband and pamper him to pieces. Sometimes it's hard to tell, but Bill actually likes me.” She slammed the door behind her.

Judith returned to the kitchen and glared at Joe, who was pouring Scotch into two glasses. “Now see what you've done. You hurt Renie's feelings.”

“No, I didn't,” Joe asserted. “She's just mad because I got . . . cross with you.” He put his arms around Judith. “Are you going to walk out on me, too?”

Judith leaned against him. “Of course not. But Renie's right. I really didn't have a very good day. Where were you all afternoon? I don't see any bags from the hardware store.”

“That's because I left them in the garage,” Joe said. He kissed her forehead and let go. “After that, I went to see Woody.”

“Oh?” Judith's dark eyes brightened. “Did he have any news?”

“He did,” Joe replied, after taking a sip of Scotch. “The autopsy report on Millie came in around four.”

“And?”

Joe set his glass on the counter. “The cause of death was confirmed as an accidental poisoning. But that wasn't all that was
in the findings. Millie was suffering from . . .” He paused, then slowly continued: “. . . cra-ni-o-pha-ryn-ge-o-ma.”

“What on earth is that?”

“In Millie's case,” Joe answered with a pained expression, “it means she had an inoperable cancerous brain tumor. Millie had only a few months—maybe weeks—to live.”

J
udith's suspicions were confirmed. There had been so many things that pointed in the direction of a serious, possibly fatal illness: the sheet of paper with cancer-related items; the trip to Zürich; the comment Belle had made about why her mother had to die—as if it were inevitable. And it was.

After dinner, Judith felt upset. It was pointless to unload on Joe, so she called Renie from the kitchen. “I sensed something like this,” she said after giving her cousin the latest news. “I haven't been able to come up with a viable motive for killing Millie. Not jealousy, not hatred, not even the money angle works because the one who benefits from her death is Belle and she's already extremely rich. Besides, Belle doesn't seem all that fond of money, so I can't see her killing her mother to get even more. I suppose I should just forget about the whole thing, right?”

“You can't do that and you know it,” Renie shot back. “It's either suicide or murder. If it's the latter, then a crime has been committed. Do you think Millie knew she was dying?”

“I don't know,” Judith admitted. “Maybe she was never told. Does it matter now?”

“Hey,” Renie argued, “you know it does. To you, if to no one else. Seeking truth and justice is your forte. Don't quit now.”

“This situation is different,” Judith said. “Every time I've gotten
involved in a murder investigation, the killer has had one of the usual motives. You know what I mean—greed, jealousy, passion, revenge—whatever. But this was a mercy killing.”

“I get that,” Renie agreed. “But who did it?”

Judith was surprised by the question. “I assume either Rodney or Millie. Maybe the others didn't know she was sick.”

“Coz! That's not worthy of you. Judging from what you just told me, Belle knew. If she knew, probably Clark knew, and so on down the line. You're feeling sorry for the Schmucks right now. But you still don't know the identity of the poisoner.”

“You're guilt-tripping me,” Judith said glumly. “Woody apparently doesn't think it was a homicide. It's been ruled an accidental death.”

“I know, but that's because he has no evidence to indicate otherwise.” Renie's sigh was audible. “You're right. I should shut up.”

“That's okay.” Judith paused. “If someone else put the poison in Millie's juice, what's the motive?”

“Gain?” Renie suggested. “They're doing their best to make sure Rodney can't access his money. Now Belle seems to be the wealthy one.”

“And she's as scared as Rodney,” Judith mused. “We have to assume that Millie inherited money. I wonder what her maiden name was. It might be on the death certificate.”

“If you hear from Rodney or Belle again, you could ask one of them.”

“But they might not contact me. I wonder . . .” She broke off.

“What?” Renie asked.

“Did Jude hire a P.I. to follow me?”

“Maybe she thought you could lead him to Rodney?”

“Dubious,” Judith responded. “The problem is that the P.I. had already found out that Rodney lived in Sunset Hills. Jude sent those coins to him a month or so ago. I'm wondering if her private eye is not the guy calling himself Ethan Ethanson, city inspector.”

“Two P.I.s?” Renie sounded skeptical.

“It's not impossible,” Judith said. “But the phony inspector may not be a P.I. His reason for checking out the Schmucks could be personal. They might have a history of scamming people out of their property. He might be seeking revenge.”

“Anything's possible that involves the Schmuck bunch,” Renie allowed. “Hey—I've got to go. Bill's ready for
Munich
.”

“He wants to go to Germany?” Judith asked in surprise.

“No, the movie,” Renie replied. “It's about a counterattack on the terrorists at the Olympics in . . .” Bill's voice could be heard in the background. “. . .
Ja, mein Führer,
I'm coming!” Renie hung up.

Judith left the kitchen and went into the living room, where Joe was on the sofa reading an espionage novel. She sat down across from him and picked up the latest issue of
Vogue
. After a couple of minutes, she realized she hadn't really taken in any of the first hundred pages she'd leafed through.

I can't focus on a single thing,
she thought to herself.
All I can think of is those Schmucks and their so-called friends. If I try to stop, I worry about Arlene and Carl. Did Cathy and Dick go out to Sunset Hills? Even if they got in, what happened after that?

“What's wrong?” Joe asked, finally looking up from his book.

“Everything,” Judith replied. “I mean, everything about what's gone on around here this last week. I'm going to call Cathy.” Ignoring her husband's baleful look, she got up and went back to the kitchen.

There was no answer. Judith knew Cathy had only the cell and her landline at the real estate office. But they closed at five. In all the years of living next door to the Rankerses, Judith had only Cathy's office phone number. She flipped through the directory, but found no listing for Dick. In fact, the only Rankerses in the book were her parents and the real estate business.

The doorbell rang. Judith wondered if one of her guests had forgotten to take the house key. But of course the door was unlocked. She and Joe never closed up the house until they went
to bed. Glancing into the living room on her way down the hall, she noticed that Joe had nodded off. Apparently espionage wasn't always riveting reading.

Judith opened the door a bit warily to see Clark Stone standing on the welcome mat. “I stole a car,” he said.

“You did?” Nothing that a member of the Schmuck group did could surprise Judith. “Come in,” she said, leading him into the parlor. “Have a seat. Whose car did you steal?”

“One of the rentals,” Clark replied, sinking awkwardly into one of the two high-backed armchairs. “Have you seen Belle?”

“She's with her father,” Judith informed him. “They left here and went downtown to stay at a hotel. I don't know which one.”

“Darn.” Clark scowled. “My father thinks she skipped out on me. Maybe she doesn't want to get married. He says that's probably why she left. Oh, well.”

“You mean . . . Stuart Wicks? Your stepfather?”

“No,” Clark said. “I mean my real father. He's staying downtown, too. At that big old hotel. I forget the name.”

Judith didn't blame him. The name had been changed over the years and recently had become a Four Seasons hotel. “I didn't realize your father was in town.”

“He's been here a few days, I guess,” Clark said vaguely. “He travels a lot in his job. I guess he talks to recruiters who're looking into backgrounds for people they might want to hire.”

“Right,” Judith said, sounding almost as vague as Clark. “Does he also live in L.A.?”

“Santa Monica. Dad's got a yacht. He likes to sail out of there. He's got moorage.”

“That's . . . nice for him. Look, Clark, I really don't know where Belle and her father are staying. Did you know she'd come here?”

“Not really,” he replied. “But Belle told me she wanted to find her dad. I don't think she knew much about the city, so I figured she might've come here to ask if you'd seen him. Mr. Schmuck
mentioned that you'd been really kind to him after Mrs. Schmuck died.” He lowered his eyes. “I don't suppose you have a spare room vacant?”

“I don't,” Judith said, again feeling guilty about the guest bedroom in the third floor family quarters. “If your father's at the big, old hotel downtown, why don't you stay with him?”

Clark's face brightened. “I never thought of that. Maybe I will. I don't want to be accused of stealing the rental, so I'll turn it in. They must have a downtown office. I probably can walk from there to the hotel.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Judith said, smiling encouragement. “I assume you got your wallet back?”

“My . . . oh, right. I had a messenger bring it out to me from that drugstore. It cost a lot, but it was worth it. Hey, I better go now. Thanks for your help, Mrs. Flynn. Oh—how do I get downtown from here?”

Judith told him to go back to the Avenue and
down the
hill
. She was careful to emphasize the direction, for fear of Clark going the wrong way. “Turn
left
when you leave the cul-de-sac,” she said at the door. “After two blocks, you'll be at Heraldsgate Avenue. Then turn
right
and you'll end up downtown.”

“Sounds like a no-brainer,” Clark responded.

“It is,” Judith said. As long as he used his brain, of course.

J
oe headed up to bed early. Judith locked the front door, but though she was very tired, she wasn't ready to settle down. The grandfather clock told her it was ten forty. Her mother would still be up, watching whatever was on TV.

Going out the back door, she realized that the evening air felt almost balmy. Maybe there would be good weather for the Memorial Day weekend. A crescent moon hung over the hill, though Judith couldn't see many stars. There were a couple of lights on at the Dooleys', but of course the Rankerses' house was dark. The
only nearby light was from the B&B's back hall. She'd forgotten to hit the switch for the back porch. Sweetums joined her near the birdbath, leading the way to Gertrude's toolshed apartment.

“What now?” the old lady demanded when Judith came inside. “Don't tell me you finally split up with Lunkhead. It's about time. Now I can die happy.”

Judith ignored the remark. “You're watching
ER
?” she practcally shouted. “Would you mind turning the sound down?”

“What? I'm deaf, you know. Speak up!”

Judith grabbed the remote and hit the mute button. “I didn't think you liked hospital shows,” she said.

Gertrude looked puzzled. “Is that what it is? I thought it was a comedy. No wonder so many of the people are wearing masks. How come you're here and not there?” she asked, gesturing at the house.

“I haven't had much time this week to visit with you,” Judith replied. “Are you and Aunt Deb playing bridge tomorrow?”

“You bet. We're going up against Gilhooly and Fiasco. They're a couple of hard cases, but we'll kick their fat fannies.”

“Those names aren't real, are they?”

“I never remember their last names,” Gertrude admitted. “But I know from seeing them at SOTS that the Irish blabbermouth counts her cards out loud and the Italian can't see so good. I like our chances.”

“Good for you and Aunt Deb,” Judith said, patting her mother's stooped shoulder. “Say, what else do you remember from that séance you had with the people who were here last weekend?”

Getrude looked blank. “What séance?”

“Mother . . . you remember it just fine. Give. Please?”

Gertrude frowned. “They all seemed to want to know about money, especially the porky little coot with the comb-over.”

“Charlie Crump,” Judith murmured. “Do you mean as in getting more of it?”

“I guess so,” Gertrude replied. “It was like they expected a big
windfall. Maybe they bought lottery tickets. After I came out of my trance, one of those nincompoops asked me why you wouldn't sell the house. I told him it was because you don't own it, I do.”

“Was that Rodney, the husband of the woman who died in the backyard?” Judith asked.

“No. It was the idiot who blogs,” Gertrude replied. “He asked if I wanted to read some of the stuff he wrote. I told him my jumble puzzles would make more sense.”

“Clayton Ormsby,” Judith murmured. “They want the whole cul-de-sac for condos.”

Gertrude shrugged. “Speculators. California's full of 'em.”

Judith didn't argue. Nor did she remind her mother that there were plenty of speculators in their own state. Of course Gertrude already knew that. She could see what had happened in their own neighborhood and it wasn't all good. But was any of it worth killing for? Judith wasn't sure.

I
t seemed even darker outside to Judith after she left her mother. She walked carefully, always aware that even stepping on a pebble could throw her off balance. Just as she passed the statue of St. Francis, she gave a start. Someone was standing at the edge of the driveway by the house. The figure moved closer. Judith could see a man—a fairly tall man—and something about him looked familiar.

“Hello?” she said softly, though her voice sounded strained.

“Mrs. Flynn?” the man responded.

“Yes.” Judith stopped a few feet from the porch. “Can I help you?”

The man came closer. She recognized the phony inspector. Even in the darkness she was certain he was the same person who had been watching from the white car parked outside the cul-de-sac. Forcing herself to sound natural, she decided to go along with whatever game he was playing. “Mr. Ethanson?”

He frowned, adjusting the collar of his blazer. “That's not my real name. I'm Ronald Stone. I think you know my son, Clark. He was a guest here recently. I'm afraid I pulled a bit of a stunt on you over the weekend.”

Judith felt her shoulders slump with relief. “I wondered who you really were. I found out who you were
not
. Would you like to come inside?”

He nodded. “I tried the doorbell, but no one came to answer it.”

“My husband must not have heard it,” Judith said, leading the way inside. Ronald Stone might seem harmless, but she knew from experience that first impressions weren't always accurate. In fact, sometimes they were downright dangerous. It was better to let her latest visitor think Joe was still up and about. Since her guests should be returning from their evening adventures, she decided it'd be more private to sit in the kitchen.