Irregardless of Murder (Miss Prentice Cozy Mysteries) (18 page)

“Hello, Judith,” I said. “How are you?”

“Lovely. Didn’t Pastor Broadhead give a lovely sermon? Apparently those nodules in his throat have healed completely.” Nurse Dee was resplendent in a gray velvet toque and matching gray wool coat with velvet collar. Blue-gray eyes and gloves the exact shade of her hair completed the ensemble. Only the red patches on her cheeks broke up the monochromatic theme. “I thought he captured the essence of marriage, didn’t you?”

I picked up another napkin and blotted again. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know . . . ”

“Oh, of course, I forgot, dear.” Nurse Dee was a widow. “May I sit down?”

I nodded, on my third napkin now, hoping against hope I could save my green wool suit. As it was, the stain would require the expert treatment of a dry cleaner, and even then complete recovery would be iffy.

Oh well,
I thought, crumpling the napkin.
I’ve done all I can.

Nothing, neither Judith Dee nor an indelible tomato stain, would prevent me from enjoying my Danny’s BLT.

“My, that looks good. I’ll have the same, Shirley,” Judith said to the waitress as she passed.

Danny’s wife nodded impassively and continued on her path. It was common knowledge that Danny had all the personality in the family.

“Shirley Dinardi’s an interesting woman,” said Judith, leaning into the aisle and peering after the waitress. “Keeps all her emotions in, obviously. That’s why she gets those shingles, of course.” She clucked in pity.

It was a mystery to me where Judith got her medical information—her practice was limited to patching up public school students—and I had long wondered whether she didn’t cross the line between simple down-and-dirty gossip and a breach of professional ethics. Her information was usually reliable. I had to give her that. Maybe she was a good interviewer, like Gil. Or maybe she could just read minds.

She smiled at me. I squirmed inwardly and tried not to think of anything personal.

“Please, please,” she said pleasantly, “enjoy your sandwich before it gets cold.”

I relaxed.

Judith pulled off her gloves and eased her coat from her shoulders. Her dress was gray crepe, with a silver brooch on the collar. “Well, I see you got back from Vermont all right. How is Mrs. Burns?”

My mouth was full, but I nodded and grunted to indicate that Lily was indeed still alive.

The sandwich was great.

“The bacon was crisp and the tomatoes flavorful. Danny was generous with the mayonnaise on the gently toasted bread, and the crisp iceberg lettuce added a definite, but not overbearing, textural counterbalance to the smoky flavor of the meat.”

This was how a food critic from downstate had once described it, and though the review had convulsed the meat-and-potatoes crowd that made up Danny’s clientele, he still displayed the framed magazine article proudly on his wall, next to a large crucifix and a dog-eared, autographed picture of Steve Allen.

“So she’s better, then? I’m so glad.”

With difficulty, I dragged my attention back to Judith Dee.

She leaned out in the aisle. “Shirley,” she called, “bring me a hot chocolate with that, would you please?” She sat back in her seat and just as I took another bite, asked, “When will she be coming home?”

Chewing as rapidly as was ladylike, I shrugged wordlessly and bobbed my head from side to side.

It seemed to satisfy Judith. “I see.” She reached across the table and lifted my bangs. “Your head looks much better. It’s coming along nicely. Need any pain medication?”

I swallowed a gulp of Danny’s wonderful coffee. A little too hot, but it helped clear the palate. In fact, it seared it.

“No, thanks, Judith. A little Tylenol seems to do the trick.” I reached into my purse, pulled out a tiny bottle, and tipped it on the table. Two tablets rolled out.

“Uh, oh. Looks like those are your last two. Here—” Judith rooted around in her handbag, which, of course, was gray leather. “I’ve got a couple of bottles of the hospital brand. They’re capsules, but you take two, just like the drugstore kind. Here. Go ahead, I’ve got plenty.”

I swallowed my tablets, then tucked the tiny bottle of Judith’s capsules in my purse. She was so anxious to be of help it seemed rude to refuse.

“Oh, good, here we are!” said Judith.

Unceremoniously, Shirley slid Judith’s order on the table, following with the hot chocolate in a heavy cup with a chipped saucer. It was piping hot and there was a rapidly melting mountain of whipped cream on top. Nobody came to Danny’s to admire the china, anyway.

The sleigh bells on the door jangled. At the sight of Vern’s tall frame, I called out to the taciturn Shirley, “We’re going to need a chili cheeseburger over here.

Shirley nodded.

Vern stood looking down at me. “You forgot to order it, didn’t you?” His hair was still damp.

“Yes. Sorry.”

“Why, hello there!” Judith seemed delighted to see him. “Won’t you join us?”

I moved over and Vern sat.

Shirley approached and stood, staring questioningly at Vern.

“What would you like to drink?” I translated.

“Chocolate milkshake,” he told her.

I shivered. “Ice cream?”

Judith smiled indulgently. Between dainty bites of her sandwich and minute sips of cocoa, she inquired about the condition of Vern’s leg.

He glanced down, having apparently forgotten the injury. “Uh, yeah, thanks. It’s fine.”

“It was miraculous the wound wasn’t more serious. If you like, you can drop by my house and I can change the bandage for you.”

“Uh. No, thanks. It’s okay.” He shrugged.

“Well, it’s your choice, certainly, but you don’t want it to become infected, do you?”

“No, I guess not. Maybe I’ll come by later if I have time.”

“That will be fine. By the way, I’m a little curious,” she ventured with a tiny smile. “Would you mind telling me just who or what it was you were chasing so hard at Peasemarsh?”

“I, uh, that is, we, thought we saw a friend of ours.” He drummed on the table, then leaned into the aisle and said fretfully, “Where is that burger, anyhow?”

“Was it Marie LeBow?”

“Uh—” Vern glanced at me.

“Yes, that’s right,” I admitted. Obviously, Judith had heard me calling Marie’s name outside the dressing rooms. “But he tripped before he could catch up with her, as you know.”

Judith looked over each shoulder and leaned forward. “I heard she’s terribly depressed over Marguerite’s death.”

“Well, actually—” Vern began.

I stepped on his foot with my high heel.

He made a tiny squeak in his throat, but got the message and clammed up. Judith had a way of worming the most personal of information out of people. But not this time.

“Actually, it would be terribly strange if she weren’t upset, don’t you think?” I asked sadly. “Oh, look, Vern! Here’s your burger.”

With her usual grace, Shirley set the heavy plate before him and slapped a hand-scrawled pink check on the table, face down.

“Shirley . . . ” I said. She turned around and stared. I held up the slip. “Could we have separate checks, please?”

Scowling, she snatched it from me and retired to re-figure what we owed. By the time she had returned with three slips and handed them around with the same quiet charm, Vern was finishing up, licking chili from his fingertips.

“Well,” Judith said to me, retrieving her check and sliding out of the booth. “This has been so pleasant, Amelia. Let’s do it again soon. And it was good to see you too,” she said to Vern as she pulled on her coat. “But don’t forget to let me re-bandage that cut. President Coolidge’s son neglected a wound,” she added, her brows furrowing in concern, “and it killed him. Bye, now.” She pulled her purse over her arm and headed down the aisle toward the exit.

“What’s with her?” Vern asked as he slid out of the booth.

“That’s just Judith. She’s a little eccentric, but she’s harmless.” I set a couple of dollars on the table for Shirley.

“And what’s with the thing with stepping on my foot?” he said, lifting his large sneaker to show me the dirty imprint of my heel. “I bet that’s what happened to Coolidge’s son.” He flexed his foot up and down and winced. “I’m going to have a bad bruise.”

“I’m so sorry. It’s just that I knew that if we told Judith anything about Marie, it would be all over town. You heard the woman.”

“Well, I can see the Coolidge family has no secrets from her.” Vern grinned.

“Here—hand me your check. I owe it to you now.”

“For an injury like this I’d say you owe me dessert too.”

“Don’t push your luck, buddy.” I began to work my way down the now-crowded aisle to the cash register. “All right, how about some candy or gum or something? We’ve got lots to do this afternoon.”

Vern settled for two Hershey bars, which he immediately consumed in the car. He also insisted on doing the driving, but I didn’t mind. I needed to concentrate on the tasks at hand.

“Head back to my house. I want to call Lily and Marie.”

As we drove up my street, however, I changed my mind. “Go on, Vern. Don’t stop. Go on, please.”

“What’s with you?” he asked, irritated. He glanced at my house and smiled. “Oh, I see. That’s Gil’s car. And there he is on the porch, ringing the doorbell, like a nice little newspaper editor. What did the poor guy do, anyway? Don’t you want to become my Auntie Amelia?” Playfully, he laid his head on my shoulder, not an easy—or safe—thing to do while driving at thirty miles per hour.

“Sit up and behave yourself,” I said sharply, trying not to laugh. “Can’t we just be friends?”

“No!” he said with affected babyish petulance. “I want a commitment! I want stability. I want a aunt!”

I sighed. “Turn here. We’ll run over to Marie’s. I can call Lily from there or what’s a long distance card for? Really, Vern, you don’t understand about Gil and me. We have a history and some of it is—”

“Then tell me. I can take it. I’m—” he glanced at his watch, “almost twenty-one. I read a lot. I’ve heard about looove . . . ” He moaned the word.

I had to laugh. “Cut it out!”

He settled back down. “No, really. This thing’s got Gil by the throat. He’s hooked, you know. Okay, I know, I mixed a metaphor, but anyway, the whole time I’ve lived at his place—at least a couple months—he’s been kind of, oh, I don’t know, serious and well, sort of old. I mean, he’s happy, he loves his work, don’t get me wrong, but—when I came back to the apartment the other day and told him about this woman I’d met, well—”

At a stop light he stretched his long arms and continued, “Mom told me about Gil’s once being engaged. It was like a family legend. To hear her tell it, it was the romantic tragedy of the century.”

“Carol was a dear friend.” I nodded sadly.

“But nobody told me your name, see. Or maybe I didn’t remember it. Anyway, I’d been ragging on Gil to find himself a woman. You know, just kidding around. And then the other day at lunch I told him about this really cute little teacher lady I drove in my cab.”

“‘Cute?’ Is that what you called me?”

“Sure—it fits. Don’t you think you’re cute?”

“It never occurred to me. Go on.”

“That was after I drove you the first time. And he says, ‘I know her. We almost married once.’ And I go, ‘That’s the one? Well, you were an idiot to let her go!’ ”

“You didn’t.”

“Sure, I did. Then, when I got the call to pick you up again a couple hours later, I knew it just had to be fate.”

“Fate? Oh, Vern.” I remembered.
Fate
and
small world
were words he had used. I hadn’t given them a second thought. After all, whoever heard of a matchmaking taxi driver?

“Anyway, after I drove you the second time, I stopped at the paper and talked to Gil some more. Finally, he goes, ‘How do I make you shut up?’ and I go, ‘Get over to her place and give it one more chance and I’ll never mention it again.’ So he cleans up a little—you know, combs his hair and straightens his tie—and leaves.”

“Just like that?”

“Sure. And when he got back that night—you kept him out a little bit late, you know—he was different. He didn’t say much, but he was pumped!” He grinned sheepishly.

I wasn’t sure what pumped meant in this context, but judging by his tone of voice, it was something good. “Vern, I think you’re reading a little too much into—”

“Hear me out, please. Next morning, he leaves me this note that says, ‘Keep an eye out. Stick like glue.’ He was worried about you after that thing with Marguerite. And sure enough . . . oops, here we are.” He pulled up by the curb at Marie’s house.

She was back, that was obvious. No longer was the rake lying across the sidewalk, and the leaves were gone from the lawn. Three large, neat, black plastic lawn bags lined up on the curb gave evidence to where they were. Marie’s small white sedan was parked in the same place as the other night. Behind it was her sister Valerie’s battered but imposing maroon van, bearing Vermont license plates.

“She’s back. Come on.” I opened the car door.

Vern hesitated.

“Are you coming?” I said impatiently.

He emerged from the car, staring at me with an odd expression. “I don’t think you heard anything I said.” He slammed his door and leaned against it, arms folded.

“Vern,” I said, coming around to his side, “of course I heard it, every word. I just don’t put the same interpretation on it you do. Gil and I—”

He waved his hands. “I know, I know. You told me. Well, from now on, I quit. You’re on your own. I’m history. Come on, let’s do this thing.”

He neatly sidestepped my attempt to give him a friendly pat on the arm and stalked up Marie’s walk. Upon reaching the porch, he stood scowling at my much slower progress.

I was still wearing my church shoes.

“Tell me again why we’re supposed to be here,” he grumbled as I plodded up the two steps to the front door.

“We’ve come to formally offer our condolences. It’s traditional to bring food. I wish I’d thought to stop at the Food Basket for some fruit or something.” I pressed the doorbell. This time, it was answered immediately.

“Miss Prentice.” Hester Swanson, attired as usual in an apron, was also wearing a self-conscious expression. She spoke in a half-whisper. “Come in. Marie will be so glad to see you.” Her questioning glance at Vern prompted a hushed introduction.