Hocus Croakus (19 page)

Judith was puzzled. “The plan shows the inn as being where our original cabin was. The four new cabins are all along the river, two on each side of the inn. I don't get it. Why are you concentrating on this part of the property?”

Dale gazed up through the budding vine maples that provided a canopy over the drive. “It's how we do these tests. We start where the ground seems most unstable. It's pretty complicated.”

“Oh?” Judith was still puzzled.

“That's right,” Dale replied, a bit blasé. “Say, we're about to break for lunch. Do you mind?”

“Mind what?”

Dale smiled in what he probably thought was his most charming manner. “Mind if we take off. We're running a little behind. It's almost twelve-thirty.” He tapped his watch.

Judith hesitated. Like Bill before her, she felt she was getting the brush-off. “I do mind,” she finally said. “I'd like to have you show me exactly what you've accomplished so far. Except, of course, for dredging the bog. I can see that for myself.”

Dale looked pained, but agreed. “I'll show you around.” He waved and shouted to his workmen. “Five minutes. I'm taking Mrs. Flynn on a quick tour.”

They walked up the gentle dirt track that led to the river. There, on the relatively flat ground where the four original cabins had stood, they had a picture-perfect view of Mount Woodchuck. The twin crests still sported snow down to the three-thousand-foot level. Judith stopped at the edge of the riverbank to admire one of her favorite sights.

What she saw when she turned around was far less pleasing. A large hole had been dug where the main cabin had once stood. Except for a couple of pieces of machinery, the cavity was empty.

“In other words,” she said angrily, “there
is
no progress.”

“I told you,” Dale said, looking mulish, “we can't do anything until we're completely satisfied about the ground's stability.”

“Then get satisfied, quick,” Judith snapped. “When I come back from the resort casino this weekend, I want to see that the foundation is laid. If it isn't, you're fired.”

“Come on, Mrs. Flynn,” Dale shot back, “be reasonable. You're building a much heavier structure than
what was here before. This property's been flooded at least twice, we live in earthquake country, you don't want us to rush…”

But Judith wasn't listening. She was stomping back up the dirt road and refused to look back. Without another word, she got into the Subaru, reversed in a reckless manner, turned the car on two wheels, and roared off and onto the highway.

It wasn't until she got out of the car and was waiting to hand her keys to a parking valet that she glanced down at her black suede loafers.

A small speck near the toe of her right shoe caught her eye.

It shone in the sun.

It looked exactly like the gold glitter she had brushed from her hands and off G. D. Fromm's suit coat.

J
UDITH TOOK A
Kleenex from her purse, carefully removed the gold fleck from her shoes, and wrapped it in the tissue. Gingerly, she tucked the small packet into her purse's zippered pocket. The tiny speck probably meant nothing. Although there had once been precious metals in the area, the granite rocks were full of various shiny particles, such as feldspar, quartz, and mica.

Inside the lobby, she decided to stop at the front desk to see if there were any messages. What she feared was a call from Hugo's Home Heating, saying that despite the contract, they couldn't install a new furnace at Hillside Manor because…Judith couldn't think of a reason, but for all she knew, Hugo's sister's aunt by marriage had once stayed at the B&B and had found a grasshopper in her cornflakes.

There was a message, but not the one she'd dreaded. Inga had left a note saying that Judith's presence was required in the Polson suite at four o'clock. Pleased at being invited into the inner sanctum, Judith used the house phone to call Inga and let her know that she'd be there on the dot.

It was Griselda Vanderbehr who answered the phone, however. “Inga told me you offered to sit with
Freddy,” Grisly said in a disgruntled voice. “She had to go into Glacier Falls to see the doctor, and since she didn't have an appointment, and she's already been gone for almost three hours, I don't know when she's coming back. I'd like to get away, if only for a little while, so I can have lunch in the coffee shop instead of calling room service.”

“I'd be glad to come up right now,” Judith said, noting that it was going on one o'clock. “What's the room number?”

“We're in the Wild Ginger Suite, top floor, the actual room number is 1806. I'll be waiting.”

But not patiently,
Judith thought, judging from the edge in Grisly's voice.

The Wild Ginger Suite, with its white double doors, was at the end of the hall. Judith rapped softly. One of the doors opened almost before she could lower her hand.

“Come in,” Grisly said. “Thanks. I'll see you in an hour or two.” She rushed out of the suite so fast that Judith felt a breeze.

Grisly's flight was understandable. She looked haggard, disheveled, and even thinner than when Judith had last seen her.

Freddy was nowhere to be seen in the elegantly appointed living room. To her right, Judith noticed that one of the doors was ajar. She walked across the plush beige carpeting and knocked once.

“Mr. Polson?”

There was no response. Judith knocked again and spoke Freddy's name a bit louder.

“What?” The reply from the other room was faint.

Judith opened the door. Freddy was propped up in a king-size bed with a compress over his eyes. He
looked very small and very weak. Judith's heart went out to him.

“Mr. Polson?” Judith said, taking a few steps closer to the bed. “I'm Mrs. Flynn, Joe Flynn's wife. You've met my husband in the course of the…investigations.” She couldn't bring herself to use the word
murder
.

Freddy moved the compress a bit higher on his forehead so that he could see. “Flynn? Oh. Yes.”

“Did your sister mention that I might be staying with you for a while?”

Freddy hesitated. “Ah…yes. I think so.”

Judith moved to the side of the bed. The headboard was painted with clusters of wild ginger. The shy, purple orchidlike flowers peeked out among the lush green leaves. The comforter and one wall carried out the same motif.

“Can I get you anything?” Judith inquired.

“No. Thank you.”

A comfortable armchair sat next to the bed, probably a convenience for Inga while she watched over her brother. There was also a settee on the other side of the room. Perhaps, Judith thought, Inga slept there, though it would have been a tight squeeze for her ample figure.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Judith asked, indicating the armchair.

“Please.”

Judith sat, then waited for a few moments before speaking again. “I have the greatest sympathy for you, Mr. Polson.”

“Call me Freddy. Please.”

Judith nodded. “Then you must call me Judith. In a small way, I understand what you're going through. I lost my first husband when he was still fairly young.”

“Was he stabbed, too?”

“No.” For a fleeting moment, Judith recalled the Thanksgiving Day when Dan had grudgingly permitted her to have dinner with her relatives. He wouldn't attend, of course, and insisted that she prepare him a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Judith had complied, but upon her return from the Grover gathering, she had found the turkey, trimmings and all, in the gutter outside their shabby rental home. Judith had been so angry that when an explosive argument ensued, she had picked up the carving knife and stabbed Dan in the rear end. Since Dan had weighed over four hundred pounds, he'd scarcely felt the slight wound. Judith, however, had suffered from guilt for years. “No,” she repeated, “he wasn't stabbed to death. He died of natural causes.” Assuming, of course, that eating Ding Dongs by the case and drinking enough vodka to float the Pacific fleet was natural.

“That's different,” Freddy murmured. “Natural causes must be easier. For the survivor, I mean.”

“Perhaps,” Judith said. “But losing a loved one is difficult no matter how it happens.”

“True.” Freddy moved fretfully in the bed. “But at least nobody thought you'd killed your husband.”

“That's not so,” Judith replied, surprised by her own candor. “I've always felt that I killed him with kindness.” But she'd never said it to anyone but Renie. “The morning he died, before I went to work, I ran to the store and bought him a gallon of sweet grape juice. He had diabetes by then. I've always wondered…” Her voice trailed off. She was annoyed with herself for baring her soul to a stranger. With Judith, it usually worked the other way around.

“That's different, too,” Freddy asserted. “You didn't force him to drink the juice. He asked you to buy it.”

Judith sighed. “Logically, I know that. But it still bothers me.” She wanted to get off the subject of Dan's unhappy demise. “Are you saying that people really think you're…guilty of such violence?”

“Some people do. Maybe the police think so, too.”

“Why?”

Freddy removed the compress and set it down on the nightstand. “Because of the sabers, I suppose. I mean, they belong to me.”

“That's ridiculous,” Judith declared. “Anyone could have used them. Maybe,” she went on as if she'd thought of it for the first time, “they don't understand why you wouldn't notice that it wasn't Sally in the saber segment.”

Freddy gazed blankly at Judith. “But I wouldn't.”

Judith cocked her head. “You wouldn't? Why is that?”

“Because,” Freddy replied, “I'm so focused on the illusion itself. A polar bear could have come onstage and I wouldn't have noticed.”

Not knowing enough about the art of illusion to question Freddy's statement, Judith frowned. “Well…okay, if that's how it works.”

“It is. Think about the great magicians and illusionists. Consider the concentration it takes to pull off the kind of performance that the audience demands. Or that we demand of ourselves, for that matter.”

Freddy's voice had gained strength and his features had become more animated. Apparently, just talking about his profession had improved his mental and physical health.

“What do you remember about the night Sally was killed?” Judith asked as gently as possible.

Freddy rubbed at the middle of his forehead. “Not
much. An hour before I go on, I sit in my dressing room and meditate. It helps me become focused. Nobody interrupts me, except Inga when she comes in about fifteen minutes before curtain time with a cup of herbal tea. But she never says anything. She brings the tea, makes sure I look as if I'm almost ready, and then leaves.” He paused. “I do remember the power failure. I also recall the segment where I spoke about the great prestidigitators of the past. I stay focused, but in a different way. I have to become more engaged with the audience.” Freddy took a couple of deep breaths, as if talking so much had tired him.

“So what you're saying is that you're in a virtual trance during your act?” Judith asked.

Freddy nodded. “Exactly. It's almost a form of self-hypnosis.”

“Did Sally have to do anything like that?”

“To a lesser degree,” Freddy said, looking sad at the mention of his former wife's name. “But Sally—or any other person who takes part in the performance—doesn't have to concentrate as much.”

“I know Lloyd Watts plays his instrument,” Judith said, “but he's the only other person besides Sally who actually appeared in the performance. Do you ever use other people?”

“Occasionally.” Freddy reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. “During some engagements, we've had a guest hypnotist or even another illusionist. We've done some things with marionettes where we've hired a puppeteer.” He shrugged. “It depends upon the city, the available talent. G.D. doesn't think the act should get too static.”

“What about illness?” Judith queried. “What happens if you get sick?”

“We cancel,” Freddy replied. “Luckily, I'm usually pretty healthy.”

“Can't Lloyd step in for you?”

Freddy grimaced slightly. “Lloyd's not quite ready for prime time. Don't get me wrong—he's a great idea man, very innovative. But he's not at the point where he can perform in front of an audience.”

“What about Sally?” Noting the pained expression on Freddy's face, Judith spoke more rapidly. “Did she ever need someone to fill in for her?”

“Almost never,” Freddy said. “She was in good health, too.” He hung his head and bit his lip. “About six weeks ago, when we were in Vegas, Sally turned her ankle. Micki took over for two or three performances.”

“Micki must have had the routine down pat,” Judith remarked.

“She did.” Freddy's expression grew even more distressed. “Micki had watched it so many times and sat through many of the rehearsals. She knew the drill. So much so that she had to take the oath.”

Judith was curious. “The oath?”

“It's not really an oath,” Freddy explained, “it's a sworn statement that you'll never reveal any of the illusionist's secrets. If you do, you can be sued or even brought up on criminal charges.”

“I didn't know that,” Judith admitted. “Does everybody in your group have to sign the oath?”

“Of course,” Freddy replied, regaining a bit of color in his face. “Not to mention the stagehands and techs and such who work with us at different shows.”

“So,” Judith said, ticking names off on her fingers, “you, Inga, Mr. Fromm, Lloyd, Griselda, and both Sally and Micki know all the secrets. What about Manny Quinn?”

Freddy shook his head. “Not Manny. We haven't known him that long. And not G.D. He's totally uninterested in the performance aspect. He and Manny seldom come to the performances, let alone attend rehearsals or concept meetings.”

“Concept meetings? Is that where you come up with new ideas?”

“Yes.” Freddy took another sip of water. “Usually, it's only Lloyd and Inga and me. There's no point in the others wasting their time listening to us toss around bits that we might never use.”

Judith's curious nature couldn't help but make her wonder what went on at such meetings. It would be fascinating to sit in on just one of them to hear how illusions were created and executed.

Executed
was the word that brought her back to reality. “I know this is a painful question,” she said quietly, “but can you think of any reason why someone would want to kill both Sally and Micki?”

Freddy's chin quivered and his eyes grew moist. “No. Honestly, I can't. And you can tell your husband that I'd be the last person to harm either of them.”

“Homicide is often about gain,” Judith murmured. “Not necessarily monetary gain,” she continued, speaking louder. “Gaining prestige, position, love—there aren't many motives for killing in cold blood.” She tried to ignore Freddy's shudder. “Are you certain that you don't know anybody who would fall into that category?”

Freddy wiped at his eyes. “No. I mean, yes, I'm certain I don't know anybody who would do something like that to Sally or Micki.”

Judith switched gears. “By the way, do you know Marta Ormond Flax?”

“Who's that?” Freddy asked with a frown.

“The woman who was found holding the saber last night.”

“No.” He shook his head, his expression morose. “I've never heard of her. Do the police think she's the killer?”

“I don't know,” Judith said frankly. “I think they're still checking on her background. I assume you wouldn't have noticed if she'd been in the audience Monday night?”

“No.” Freddy looked rueful. “I may appear to make eye contact with the spectators, but I actually don't. I don't even see the people I know. Except Inga. I can always see Inga. Of course, she usually has a table at the front.”

Recalling Inga's removal of the Flynn party from their ringside seats, Judith nodded. “I thought maybe if Marta Ormond Flax had her poodle with her, she might have caught your eye.”

“A poodle?” Freddy shook his head. “Pets aren't allowed in the cabaret. That's because of the animals in the act. They might get spooked.”

Judy heard only fragments of Freddy's response. She was thinking back to what Inga had said when she'd barged in on the Flynns and the Joneses. “Do you know who was supposed to sit with your sister Monday night? Besides Mr. Fromm, that is.”

Freddy looked perplexed. “No. Was someone else joining her?”

Judith explained about the mix-up in the seating arrangements, and how Inga had mentioned that other people might be sitting with her. But Freddy still looked blank. “It was a table for four, right?” he asked. “If G.D. was there, the only other person I can think of
who might have been sitting with them would be Manny Quinn.”