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Authors: Mary Daheim

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Joe all but yanked the cigar out of his mouth. “What?”

Three pairs of eyes bored into Judith. “Here,” she said, flipping a cassette onto the coffee table next to Joe’s feet. “I put this into the stereo just before Harvey showed up. By mistake, I pushed the record instead of the play button. Those thick gloves, you know. The whole thing’s on tape.”

JUST DESSERTS / 217

“Holy Mother!” exclaimed Joe, picking up the cassette with wary fingers. “But this may not be admissible in court.”

“Oh, yeah?” Judith gave him an odd, off-center smile.

“Then hand it over to Mavis, have Dash bribe the judge, lock my mother up with the jury. I’ve done more than my share.

I’m
tired
.”

To prove her point, Judith promptly fell asleep.

The world was a dazzling white, the sun almost overhead in the clear blue sky as Judith and Renie trudged up the hill to eleven o’clock mass at Our Lady, Star of the Sea. Six inches of snow had fallen before the storm finally blew out over the bay, and the temperature hovered just above twenty degrees. A lone car with chains started down the avenue, stalled, and attempted to reverse. No buses were running, several snowmen already stood guard outside their creators’

homes, and only a few random side-walks had been shoveled.

So far, there wasn’t a sign of a municipal sanding crew. The city was living up to its reputation of being both unable and unwilling to cope with winter weather.

“I’m stiff,” Judith admitted, fitting her boots into the footprints which had gone before them. “I almost wish I’d woke up so I could have gone to bed.”

“We tried to move you around so you’d be comfortable,”

Renie said, watching a dozen sparrows attack a bird feeder on the other side of the street. “Do you know you slept eleven hours straight?”

“Eleven hours crooked,” Judith corrected. “The phone woke me. Who was it? Mother?”

“Only the first three times.” Renie struggled slightly in Gertrude’s borrowed galoshes. “The other fourteen calls were from the press and would-be guests.”

Judith turned a bit too quickly and had to grab the already unsteady Renie. “You mean people want to stay at Hillside Manor after all this mess?”

The cousins both went down, tumbling into a utility
218 / Mary Daheim

pole. “Sure they do,” Renie sputtered, wiping snow from her mouth. “I told you, notoriety is the best form of advertising.”

“Gee.” Judith scrambled to her feet, giving Renie a hand.

“I can’t believe it. That’s amazing!” They resumed their hike.

“But I bet I won’t get into the guidebooks,” Judith remarked with a trace of gloom. They kept walking, with Renie making a little whistling sound as they reached level ground. At the corner, they turned toward the church, its single Gothic spire crowning the crest of Heraldsgate Hill.

Up ahead, other parishioners were making their way on foot to Star of the Sea. Judith put a hand on her cousin’s arm, forcing Renie to halt. “Tell me—did Joe say anything about that annulment?”

“No.”

“Did he say anything about
me?
”

“No.” She saw the disappointment flood Judith’s face and patted her cousin’s hand. “He left a note, though.”

Judith brightened. “A note? What did it say?”

Renie was indignant. “How do I know? It was for you.

Do you think I’d read it?”

“Yes.”

Renie shuffled her ill-fitting galoshes. “It said ‘Give me six months. Joe.’ That’s all.”

Judith cocked an eye at Renie. “What does that mean?

I’ve already given that jerk over twenty years!” She plunged ahead, this time deliberately stomping along in virgin territ-ory, churning the snow beneath her boots.

“There was one other thing,” said Renie, fighting to keep up. “He wanted to see a picture of Mike.”

Judith stopped in her tracks. They were in the shadow of the church spire, and the air suddenly felt very cold. “Well?

Did you show him one?”

“Sure. Mike’s high school graduation portrait. He hasn’t changed all that much since then.” She spoke lightly, but kept her eyes on Judith’s face.

A half-dozen fellow SOTS called out greetings as they
JUST DESSERTS / 219

went into the church. Judith managed a halfhearted wave in return. “What did Joe say?”

“He wanted to know why Mike had red hair.”

“Oh.” Judith stared down at her snow-caked boots. “What did you tell him?”

Renie’s gaze didn’t falter. “That Effie McMonigle was a redhead, of course. What else could I say?”

Judith bit her lip, then nodded. “Nothing.” The church bells tolled the hour, the sound floating out over the crest of the hill. “Come on, we’ll be late.” The cousins moved as fast as they could, slipping to one side, sliding to the other.

Giggling like girls, they joined the stream of people in the vestibule.

“Judith!” cried Norma Paine, her wide nostrils flaring. “The Brodies are back home! Did that awful nephew really kill the fortune-teller? What did he try to do to
you?
” She had swooped down on Judith, with Wilbur tagging along like a mascot.

Cornered by the holy water font, Judith realized that quite a crowd was gathering, eager expressions on their faces, a swarm of questions on their lips. “Not now,” she said with a friendly smile. “Later, at coffee and doughnuts.” With a mixture of disappointment and understanding, the SOTS

began to drift away, toward the church proper.

“Coffee and doughnuts,” murmured Renie. “Sounds good to me. I had breakfast over three hours ago.”

“It doesn’t sound as appropriate as what we served up night before last,” said Judith, making the sign of the cross.

“I wouldn’t know,” Renie responded as the organ thundered forth with the opening chords of the entrance hymn. “I didn’t get any.”

“You didn’t deserve to,” Judith said, tiptoeing toward the side aisle. “Face it, coz,” she whispered, “we didn’t serve mere cream puffs, we gave the Brodies their just desserts.”

Church or not, Renie kicked her with Gertrude’s galosh.

220 / Mary Daheim

Judith grinned, genuflected, and slipped into the first vacant pew. As the priest, Father Hoyle, three altar servers, and Carl Rankers in his role as lector proceeded to the altar, Judith said her prayers. She had a great deal to be thankful for on this bright, brisk January morning. A strange sense of exultation mingled with humility consumed her. She had relied upon her own resources to protect life and livelihood. For now, the world seemed a better place just because she was in it. The feeling would pass, as all such euphoria did, but Judith would savor it as long as possible.

It wasn’t until the congregation stood for the gospel reading that Judith happened to glance across the church.

There, in the mellow light from the old, exquisite stained-glass windows, she saw Joe Flynn. He saw Judith. Discreetly, he held up six fingers. Judith held up only one.

But she smiled.

About the Author

Seattle native
MARY DAHEIM
began telling stories with pictures when she was four. Since she could neither read nor write, and her artistic talent was questionable, her narratives were sometimes hard to follow. By second grade, she had learned how to string together both subjects and predicates, and hasn’t stopped writing since. A former newspaper reporter and public relations consultant, Daheim’s first of seven historical romances was published in 1983. In addition to Avon Books’ Bed-and-Breakfast series featuring Judith McMonigle Flynn, Daheim also pens the Alpine mysteries for Ballantine. She is married to David Daheim, a retired college instructor, and has three daughters—Barbara, Katherine and Magdalen.

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Bed-and-Breakfast Mysteries by

Mary Daheim

from Avon Books

DEAD MAN DOCKING

THIS OLD SOUSE

HOCUS CROAKUS

SILVER SCREAM

SUTURE SELF

A STREETCAR NAMED EXPIRE

CREEPS SUZETTE

HOLY TERRORS

JUST DESSERTS

LEGS BENEDICT

SNOW PLACE TO DIE

WED AND BURIED

SEPTEMBER MOURN

NUTTY AS A FRUITCAKE

AUNTIE MAYHEM

MURDER, MY SUITE

MAJOR VICES

A FIT OF TEMPERA

BANTAM OF THE OPERA

DUNE TO DEATH

FOWL PREY

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

JUST DESSERTS. Copyright © 2007 by Mary Daheim. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader February 2007

ISBN 978-0-06-135731-2

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