Legs Benedict (9 page)

“Could be,” Judith remarked, her attention diverted by the calls that had piled up while she was out of earshot of the phone.

“I've had that coat for almost ten years,” Phyliss went on. “I paid good money for it, too. Thirty-five dollars at a
Belle Epoch sale. Now how I am supposed to get home without a coat? Maybe that young fella who came asking for your mother grabbed it. He looked fishy to me. Mrs. Wartz thought so, too.”

“That's Mrs. Schwartz,” Judith said, taking down the telephone numbers. Two requests for reservations, one in July, the other in August; a reminder from the dentist for a cleaning the following week; and, most intriguingly, a call from J. J. Martinez.

“What?” Judith finally gave Phyliss her full attention. “No one would take your coat, Phyliss.” Ten years worth of wear on a cheap black raincoat had rendered the garment shabby, baggy, and frayed around the edges.

But Phyliss was right: The raincoat wasn't on its usual peg. “Did you check the upstairs and the basement? You might not have taken it off when you came in. You were a bit late, remember?”

“'Course I checked the upstairs and basement,” Phyliss answered crossly. “Besides, I remember hanging it right here.” She grabbed the empty peg and gave it a shake. “My plastic rain bonnet was in the pocket. Now how can I wait for the bus in this bad weather? I'll take a chill and end up with pneumonia.”

“You can borrow one of my coats,” Judith said. “I may have a rain bonnet tucked away somewhere.”

“That's not the point,” Phyliss said doggedly. “I want my own coat.”

Judith sighed. “Your coat may have gotten moved. We've had so much activity around here this morning, including a thorough search of the house. I'm sure it'll turn up. Meanwhile, I'll go up to the family quarters and get you another raincoat.”

Phyliss began to reiterate her stand that only her own coat would do, but Judith was already halfway up the back stairs. Three minutes later, she returned to the kitchen with the navy blue raincoat she seldom wore. Judith preferred jackets and car coats.

“I found a rain bonnet in a drawer,” Judith said, helping
a reluctant Phyllis into the coat. “Key Largo Bank gave them away awhile back as a special promotion.” Judith had tucked the gift away, preferring to wear a tin bucket on her head rather than a plastic rain bonnet.

With much grumbling, Phyliss exited through the back door. Judith picked up the phone and dialed the number J. J. had left for her on the answering machine.

J. J. wasn't available, however. Neither was Rich Goldman. Frustrated, Judith checked her bookings for the dates that the callers had requested. She was full up for the two nights in July that a Mrs. Carter from Bloomington, Illinois, had wanted, but had one room left for the August reservations that had been required by Ms. Holcombe in Denver. Judith was about to call Mrs. Carter back when Barney Schwartz stomped into the kitchen.

“Where's Ma?” he demanded, his head swiveling in every direction. “You seen her?”

“No,” Judith responded, setting the phone down. “She hasn't been in the kitchen that I know of.”

Barney was very red in the face as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and chewed on his lower lip. “This is crazy. I checked all the cans upstairs, the downstairs can, too. I even tried to open that door down the hall that's marked private, but it was locked. Could she have gone in there?”

“That's the staircase that goes up to the third floor,” Judith answered, feeling worry build at the pit of her stomach. “I was up there just a few minutes ago. Nobody was around. Besides, we always keep that door locked.”

“Are those cops still here?” Barney asked in a raspy voice. “Maybe they know where she is.” He started for the front door.

“Mr. Schwartz,” Judith called after him. “May I ask you a quick question?”

Pausing at the end of the dining room table, Barney gave Judith a harried look. “It better be quick. What?”

Though the note Phyliss had found was still in the pocket of Judith's slacks, she didn't produce it. “Were you ex
pecting to meet someone out in the yard at any time since you arrived here?”

“What?” Barney regarded Judith as if she were crazy. “Hell, no. Why should I?” He stomped through the entry hall and slammed the front door behind him.

Puzzled, Judith decided to check the basement. She was halfway down the stairs when she realized that a search for Minerva Schwartz might turn up something very unpleasant. Judith had already found one corpse on the premises. Taking a deep breath and gritting her teeth, she continued down the steps.

The basement was used mainly as a laundry room and for storage. The belongings that Mike had left behind were clustered in the old coal bin. The possessions that Gertrude couldn't fit into the toolshed took up the entire far end beyond the furnace and hot water heater. Cartons of holiday decorations stood against another wall. Joe's workshop was nothing more than a wooden counter and shelves, though there were tools everywhere, along with garden implements and a rusty lawn mower last used by Grandpa Grover. Judith, whose sentimental streak ran deep, couldn't bear to throw it away.

But there was no sign of Minerva Schwartz. Relieved, Judith went back upstairs just as someone rang the front doorbell.

Two men stood on the porch. One was tall, stern-faced, and of African-American descent; the other was somewhat shorter, but broad-shouldered and possessing a full head of curly black hair. Both wore dark suits and muted ties. Judith had seen the type, if not the men, very recently. She set her jaw as the black man introduced himself and flashed his credentials.

“I'm Agent Terrill from the FBI,” the man said, then indicated his companion. “This is Agent Rosenblatt. May we come in?”

Judith balked. “I've already told Agent Dunleavy that my mother isn't in any condition to answer a bunch of silly questions right now. I must insist that you come back later.
In fact, it's pointless for you to come back at all.”

“Pardon?” Terrill's dark eyes seemed to assess Judith, the entry hall, and the rest of the surroundings all at once. “I'm not here to see your mother. Are you Mrs. Flynn?”

“Yes,” Judith snapped, “and I was never a member of Nazi Youth. I would have been about two at the time.”

Without a word, Agents Terrill and Rosenblatt stepped around Judith and entered the house. “We've no idea what you're talking about,” Terrill said quietly. “Where is Bernhard ‘Fewer Fingers' Schlagintweit?”

Judith's jaw dropped. “Who?”

“Bernhard…”

“Yes, yes, you don't need to say it again,” Judith interrupted. “I've never heard of this person.”

“I think you're mistaken.” Terrill turned as Barney Schwartz came through the front door.

“Ma's gone!” he wailed. “She's been kidnapped! Or worse!”

“Keep calm,” Terrill commanded as Rosenblatt moved swiftly behind Barney and twisted the other man's arms behind his back.

Rosenblatt spoke for the first time. “I'm arresting you, Bernhard ‘Fewer Fingers' Schlagintweit, also known as Barney Schwartz, for the murder of Alfonso Benedetto, also known as Legs Benedict, and sometimes using the alias John Smith.” Rosenblatt clicked a pair of handcuffs on Barney, who howled in protest as the Malones rushed in from the living room and the preschool teachers raced from the porch swing to the front door.

“La-la-la,” sang Judith, twirling around. “I really am crazy after all.” With that, she collapsed against the elephant-foot umbrella stand.

T
HERE WERE STARS
on the ceiling and comets plunging past the plate rail. The ring around Saturn whirled over the glass-topped coffee table, and the cloud that Judith was floating on felt a bit lumpy. She blinked several times, realized her mouth was as dry as an Arizona desert, and tried to sit up.

“Drink this,” urged a voice Judith didn't recognize at first. She blinked again. Sandi Something-Or-Other from New Jersey. No, not Sandi; Sandi was blonde. This was Pam, the other preschool teacher, a brunette, a pretty, earnest face. The hand was holding a glass of water. Judith wasn't floating through the heavens. She was on one of the matching sofas in the living room, with several people watching her with worried expressions.

“Aaangs,” Judith moaned. She meant to says thanks; it didn't sound right in her ears. But she let Pam hold the glass to her lips, and took a small sip.

“She fainted,” Sandi was saying to Roland du Turque. “Right there in the entry hall.”

“Poor thing,” murmured Roland, then lowered his voice still further. “What happened to Mr. Schwartz?”

“Something bad,” Sandi replied. “Two men took him away in a car. He was wearing handcuffs.”

“Oh, my!” Roland sounded horrified. “Do you think…? Does that mean…? Did he…?”

Judith's eyes had begun to focus. “Yes,” she said in a weak voice. “The FBI agent charged him with killing John Smith. Except he wasn't John Smith, and Barney isn't Barney Schwartz, and…”

“Delirious,” whispered Pam.

“She's nuts,” Mal Malone asserted.

“We should've gone some place else,” Bea said to her husband. “I knew it—this place is hexed.”

“We couldn't,” Mal responded. “Don't be a chump.”

Pete and Marie Santori had entered the living room. Sandi rushed over to explain to the honeymooners what had happened. After taking a few more sips of water, Judith managed to sit up. To her surprise, she felt dizzy and nauseous.

“Since Barney Schwartz has been arrested, does that mean we can leave?” Marie asked in an eager voice.

No one answered, including Judith, who knew she couldn't take responsibility for such a decision. Indeed, she couldn't take much of anything, except collapsing back onto the sofa.

“Mr. Martinez is the primary,” she finally said. “I believe that the FBI works in tandem with the local police. We'll have to wait to hear from him.”

“How long?” Mal demanded.

“I don't know,” Judith replied.
And I don't much care
. She was definitely feeling sick; she had to get upstairs. “If you'll excuse me…” Leaving the sentence unfinished, she finally managed to stand up with the help of Pam and Roland.

“We'll come with you,” Pam insisted. “You might fall.”

Judith didn't argue, even allowing the two guests all the way into the family quarters on the third floor.

“This is nice,” Pam enthused. “I like dormer rooms. They're so cozy.”

“Years ago, I lived in a boarding house in New Or
leans,” Roland said. “My room was very much like this one, though not quite as charming.”

Judith allowed the guests to chatter for a few moments, then thanked them before she indicated a need to head for the bathroom. Roland and Pam left, promising to lock the door at the bottom of the stairs.

They'd barely disappeared when Judith stumbled into the bathroom and threw up, not once, but half a dozen times. Weak and depleted, she knelt on the floor, summoning strength to get back to bed. When she finally felt better, she flopped onto the pillows and considered her options.

With Arlene Rankers out of town, there weren't many. Judith's unsteady fingers dialed Renie's number.

“You're sick?” Renie sounded flabbergasted. “What is it, flu?”

“Maybe,” Judith replied. “Or it could be nerves. This has been one hell of a day, and you haven't heard the half of it.”

“But I will,” Renie said warily.

“Can you bail me out?” Judith asked.

“Me? Ms. No-Tact? Winner of the Ungracious Award for the fiftieth year in a row? The original Big Mouth? This sounds like a real bad idea, coz.”

“This crew can't be any more alienated than they already are,” Judith countered. “You know I hate to ask—but I'm stuck.”

“Shoot.” Renie was silent for an ominously long time. “Okay, I'll be over in half an hour. So much for the Boring pedophiles. I've got a jump-start on this project anyway, but I'll have to throw something together for Bill and the kids' dinner. Bill flunked chicken breasts a la Dolly Parton last night. I assume you want me to stay over?”

Judith hadn't thought that far ahead. Joe should be home by six, but sometimes he worked late. In any event, it wasn't fair to ask him to play both host and cop to the current group of guests.

“You can stay in Room Three,” Judith said. “It's vacant now. So is Room Four.”

“Huh?”

“I'll explain later,” Judith said, hanging up and making another dash to the bathroom.

Renie arrived shortly after four, but didn't come up to see Judith straight away. “The guests filled me in on some of what's been going on,” Renie said, sitting at the far end of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Judith said. “I honestly think it's the flu. If it's a twenty-four-hour bug, I should be okay by tomorrow. Is everybody still here?”

“Everybody who hasn't been murdered, fled, kidnapped, arrested, or otherwise disappeared,” Renie said. “I heard about Minerva Schwartz, who still hasn't turned up. She'll have a fit when she finds out her son was arrested.”

“
If
she finds out,” Judith replied in a worried tone. “Did you notice if Barney's Cadillac was still parked out in the cul-de-sac?”

“The white Seville?” Renie frowned. “No, I didn't see it.”

Judith stared at Renie. “Minerva must have taken it. That means Barney never checked to see if the car was gone. Of course, he didn't have much time after he discovered his mother was missing. And,” Judith added with an ironic expression, “I know how Minerva got out of the house without being stopped. She grabbed Phyliss's raincoat and whoever was on duty assumed it was the cleaning lady, heading out from her daily stint.”

“That's possible,” Renie agreed. “Phyliss isn't quite as tall, but she's got gray hair, more or less the same shade.”

“Which,” Judith noted, “Minerva probably hid under Phyliss's rain bonnet anyway, to disguise the fact that her hair isn't sausage curls, but a topknot. One older gray-haired woman in a raincoat and a plastic bonnet looks pretty much like any other. And speaking of the older generation, let me tell you what happened to Mother today.”

Renie bared her prominent front teeth in an evil grin. “Was it horrible?”

“It was, actually,” Judith responded, and proceeded to tell Renie about Agent Dunleavy's visit.

After Renie stopped rolling around in a fit of unbridled mirth, she held her head. “That's really about the dumbest thing I ever heard. How could the FBI make such a lamebrained mistake?”

“It
is
the government,” Judith said. “And they do make mistakes. Do you remember the time the IRS thought
your
mother was a taxidermist?”

“Wrong Deborah Grover, right address,” Renie said. “We didn't know until then that somebody by the same name had lived in her apartment ten years earlier before she moved in. Mom had always wondered why the living room had outlines of wall mountings. The super shouldn't have allowed the other Deborah Grover to put up all those stuffed heads in the first place.”

“I doubt Dunleavy will be back,” Judith said, then gave her cousin a diffident look. “I hate to ask, but I think I could drink a cup of tea.”

“I'll get it.” Renie rose from the bed. “Am I supposed to fix dinner for this bunch?”

Judith grimaced. “I guess so. Sorry, coz. I didn't even think about that. But as far as I know, they still can't leave.”

“That's fine. I'll make shrimp dump,” Renie said, referring to her all-purpose creamed seafood recipe, which wasn't quite as bad as it sounded. She headed out of the bedroom.

Renie hadn't been gone a minute, when O. P. Dooley appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Mrs. Flynn? Mrs. Jones let me come up. Is that okay?”

Judith nodded. “I feel better. What's up?”

Under his unruly fair hair, O. P.'s face was very serious. “I'm just starting the evening paper route, and my mom asked if I could get you to tell your guests to move their car. It's blocking our driveway.”

Judith stared at O. P. The Dooleys faced the other side of the block, behind Hillside Manor. To her knowledge, none of the B&B guests had ever parked a car so far away.

“How do you know the car belongs to one of my guests?” Judith asked.

“I saw it parked in the cul-de-sac yesterday,” O. P. responded. “It's black, a new Chrysler Concord with New York plates. The license number is…”

“You know the license number?” Judith broke in.

“Sure. I like to memorize license numbers, especially out-of-state ones. Sometimes they're really weird.” O. P. gave Judith a self-effacing smile.

“That's great, O. P.,” Judith declared, breaking into her first real smile since she'd passed out in the entry hall. Then she started to recount what had been happening at the B&B.

O. P., however, knew most of what had gone on. “One of those nice ladies told me when I came to the door. She didn't know if she should let me in until I explained who I was. Then she and the other nice lady—I guess they're friends, huh?—let me come inside.”

Judith assumed that O. P. was talking about Pam and Sandi. “Did you memorize the plates on the Michigan car, too?”

O. P. nodded. “Want me to write the numbers down?”

Judith did, handing the young boy a small tablet and pen she kept on the bedside table. “The police will be thrilled.” Abruptly, Judith's enthusiasm faded. “The only problem is, they're going to want to take that Chrysler in to search it. I'm not sure how soon they can get it towed.”

O. P. made a face. “They better do it quick before my dad gets home from work. Mom says he'll be mad if he can't get into the garage.”

“I'll call right now,” Judith promised.

O. P. started for the door, then swerved on his heel. “Wow—I almost forgot. This morning I subbed for Rob Simon. He's got the flu, too. Anyway, I came by with the morning paper around five-thirty. I had to get a real early start 'cause I like to take a shower before I go to school, and with so many of us in the house, we sort of have to line up.”

Judith gave O. P. an encouraging smile. “And?”

“I remembered not to deliver the Rankerses' paper, so I cut across the cul-de-sac from the Porters' house,” O. P. continued, his young face very earnest. “It was getting kind of light, but not real light, because it was cloudy this morning. Anyway, I saw those people I almost ran into rummaging around in their car. You know—the Ford Explorer from Illinois.”

“The Malones?” Judith rubbed her chin. “At five-thirty in the morning? How odd. Did you see them take something out?”
Like a gun
, thought Judith, but didn't want to lead O. P.

The boy shook his head. “No. I had to come up on the sidewalk to deliver your paper, and then go on to the Ericsons'. Those people—the Malones?—were still at their car when I headed for the other Mrs. Flynn's and Mrs. Swanson's. Mr. Malone was looking under it, like maybe he was checking for an oil leak.”

Judith nodded. “Of course. That's extremely interesting, O. P. Did you happen to see—or hear—anything else?”

O. P. made a face. “Not really. I wish I'd sort of—you know—hung out more. But it was raining, and I had to get the route done. I didn't know it might be important to notice stuff.”

“Nobody could know that,” Judith consoled him. “You did wonderfully well as it is, especially memorizing those license plates.”

O. P. brightened at the praise. “Should I still keep looking around?”

“Definitely. But be careful,” Judith cautioned. “Even if Mr. Schwartz has been arrested, some of these other people might be dangerous.”

“Really?” O. P. beamed. “Like those nice ladies who let me in?”

“Well…maybe they're not,” Judith amended.

Then again
, she thought after O. P. left the room,
maybe they are
.

 

“Your guests don't seem too excited about eating shrimp dump,” Renie said an hour later.

Judith, who had been drifting in and out of a restless sleep, roused herself. “Where'd you get the shrimp? I didn't think I had any.”

“You didn't,” Renie responded, sitting on the bed. “I used a couple of cans of sardines.”

The concept sent Judith's stomach into revolt. But at least she didn't feel like throwing up anymore. “It serves them right,” she finally said, then reconsidered. “Actually, the teachers seem nice enough; so does Roland du Turque. I can't quite get a read on the Santoris. What do you think, coz?”

Renie rested her short chin in her hand. “Phonies. Pete and Sandi not only know each other, but from what we saw in the garage, I'm guessing said knowledge could be intimate.
Ergo
, Pete and Marie are faking it. They're not on their honeymoon, and maybe they're not even married—at least not to each other.”

“But why the charade?” Judith asked, sipping at the hot tea refill Renie had brought.

“Let's start with John Smith,” Renie said, reclining at the foot of the bed. “Who did the FBI guy say he really was?”

“Alfonso Benedetto, otherwise known as Legs Benedict. And,” Judith went on, “don't ask me what Barney's real name is—I couldn't possibly pronounce it, though I think his nickname is Fewer Fingers, for obvious reasons.”