Loco Motive (2 page)

“You think I wouldn't?” Judith snapped.

Curled up on the green sofa, Renie seemed skeptical. “I don't know. Only you can answer that. Boston has some intriguing cemeteries. Maybe you could read the tombstones and figure out if the people buried there died from natural causes or foul play. You might solve some centuries-old murders. Would that satisfy your morbid curiosity?”

“Knock it off,” Judith snapped. “You made your point and I'm in a bind.”

“The Rankerses can handle the B&B. They're old hands at it,
and they like keeping busy since Carl retired. They also get along with Aunt Gert.”

“I don't feel right asking them to take over for such a long period of time,” Judith said.

“I'd prefer getting a professional B&B sitter.”

“You know best.”

“You're smug.” Judith stood up. “I like it better when you're ornery.”

“I'm versatile,” Renie said, walking Judith to the door. “There's enough time for Bill to transfer my plane ticket to Joe. The train leaves Sunday at four forty-five. I've requested a lower level bedroom so you won't have to climb so many steps. Bill can drive us to the station. We'll pick you up at a quarter to four. Dress warmly,” she called to Judith, who had kept going to her car. “Bye.”

Judith drove up Heraldsgate Avenue in a daze. Too much had happened too fast. She'd have to talk to Joe, to the Rankerses—and to her mother. Gertrude Grover took offense at her daughter going anywhere more than ten minutes away. Fixated on such daunting tasks, Judith almost drove past Falstaff's Grocery. It was after three when she finally got home.

“You look frazzled,” Joe said, gesturing at the four shopping bags his wife was placing on the counter. “Got any more?”

“Three,” Judith said tersely.

Joe headed outside. Judith was hanging up her car coat in the hallway when she heard someone coming down the back stairs. Since guests used the entry hall stairs, she assumed it was her cleaning woman, Phyliss Rackley.

Judith was wrong. She didn't recognize the fair-haired young man with his uncertain smile. “Mrs. Flynn?” he said, stopping by the pantry.

“Yes? Did you check in early?”

The young man shook his head. “I'm not a guest. I'm visiting Mr. Weevil.” He held out a slim hand. “Wayne Fielding. You're the owner?”

Judith nodded and allowed her hand to be shaken. “How can I help you?”

“You can't.” Wayne smiled disarmingly. Up close he didn't look as young as Judith had first thought. There were small wrinkles around his hazel eyes and his mouth, and on his forehead. She guessed he was closer to forty than thirty. “I'm going outside,” Wayne explained. “Is the back door off-limits like the phones?”

“You spoke to Pepper,” Judith said without her usual tact.

“Oh, sure,” Wayne said breezily. “She's quite a character.”

At that moment Joe entered with the rest of the groceries. He nodded to Wayne and kept going into the kitchen.

Judith, who was still rattled, tried to focus on Wayne's question. “You mean…” She nodded at the door. “Go ahead. Family and friends generally use our back door. Is there something you need outside?”

Wayne pointed to a camera case hanging from his left shoulder. “I'm taking some pictures. I'm Mr. Weevil's publicist.”

Judith forced a smile. “You're photographing my B&B? Or Mr. Weevil?”

Wayne chuckled. “I never know exactly what with Mr. Weevil.”

“What don't you know?” Joe asked, coming up behind Judith. She gave a little start. Joe's casual, mellow tone had served him well during his career as a police detective. She took his arm and smiled. “This is Wayne Fielding, Mr. Weevil's publicist. He's taking photos.”

Joe didn't offer his hand. “I'll go with you,” he said to Wayne. “You better be quick. It's going to rain.”

Wayne's grin widened. “Doesn't it always around here?”

“Constantly,” Joe said. “Show me where you're shooting your photos.”

The men went out the back door. Judith's curiosity was piqued.
She was about to step onto the porch when Phyliss emerged from the basement with a hamper of laundry.

“Ungodly,” Phyliss muttered. “Is Weevil really a movie star?”

“He used to be,” Judith said. “He's famous for several things.”

“Piety isn't one of them,” Phyliss retorted. “Taking the name of the Lord in vain, cavorting with that red-haired harlot, and pretending he's the Angel Gabriel by jumping out the window. What kind of heathen does those things?”

“Mr. Weevil is famous for his daredevil escapades,” Judith said wearily.

Phyliss set the hamper on the floor and wagged a finger. “You see? Daring as the devil. If that's not irreligious, what is?”

“Don't ask me,” Judith continued as she moved onto the porch.

“Oh, drat! Here comes Mother.”

Gertrude Grover had driven her motorized wheelchair down the ramp of the converted toolshed where she'd chosen to live rather than share a roof with Joe Flynn. The old lady never called her small apartment home, but described it as anything from a packing crate to a pay-as-you're-going coffin.

“I'm cross as two sticks,” Gertrude shouted, zipping by the small patio, the birdbath, and the statue of Saint Francis. “Why didn't you tell me it was Christmas? I haven't addressed a single card!”

“Christmas?” Judith met her mother on the sidewalk by the porch. “What are you talking about? It's not Halloween yet.”

“Mad as a hatter,” Phyliss remarked from her righteous position on the porch. “That's what happens when you play with a necklace that's got a cross with our Lord on the end of it. More sacrilege.”

Judith shot the cleaning woman a warning glance. “It's October, Mother,” she said to Gertrude. “Why do you think it's Christmas?”

“Why else would somebody…”

Gertrude's words were drowned out by raised voices that
came from around the corner of the house. One belonged to Joe, whose usually mellow tone had turned harsh. Ignoring Gertrude and Phyliss, who had begun yet another stare-off of mutual contempt, Judith hurried to the driveway.

Joe and Wayne were craning their necks to look up at the roof. “Get down, you crazy moron!” Joe yelled. “If you jump, I'll call the cops!”

Dressed in red sweats, Wee Willie Weevil was standing by one of the roof's two chimneys. The wind was blowing hard enough that the fabric flapped against his sinewy physique. Somehow his dark hair stayed in place. “Beat it, buster,” he shouted back. “I'm exercising.”

Wayne was fiddling with his camera. “Move to your right,” he called loudly. “The light's not so good from this angle.”

Joe grabbed Wayne's arm. “Put that thing away or I'll break it. This is a B&B, not an amusement park. Do you want to run us out of business with Weevil's loony risk-taking stunts?”

Wayne was unruffled. “He knows what he's doing.”

Joe noticed Judith a few feet away. “Did he sign a special waiver?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward the roof.

“You mean Willie?” Judith glanced up at the daredevil, who was coming around to the north side of the chimney. “I don't think so. He registered like any guest, agreeing to the standard B&B rules.”

“So he's screwed if he kills himself. I should never have said I bet he couldn't jump out the second-story window. I thought he was joking.”

Wayne had moved out of sight. Judith heard her mother ask if he was one of Santa's elves. Phyliss accused him of consorting with the devil. “I know Satan when I see him,” she declared. “Red suit and all.”

“That's Santa Claus, dummy,” Gertrude said to Phyliss. “What happened to his elves and the reindeer?”

“Pagan practices,” Phyliss snapped. “Worship of unnatural
creatures and animals. Satan, Santa—just switch the letters around. And it's not Christmas, though why you heathens care about it, I don't…ahh!” She jumped as Sweetums brushed up against her leg. “Beelzebub's familiar! Help!”

Judith tried to block out the familiar rant. She followed Joe to the rear of the house where Wee Willie seemed poised to make his jump.

“Much better,” Wayne called, trying to brush his windswept hair off of his forehead.

“Any time. I'm starting to shoot.”

His subject didn't hesitate. Wee Willie took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and made a running leap to the roof's edge. Joe shouted; Judith screamed. Willie went airborne just as a gust of wind blew him off course. He missed the lily-of-the-valley bush he'd apparently aimed for and crashed into a thorny pyracantha. His howls of pain and agonized writhing horrified Judith. Wayne was frozen in place. Joe yanked out his cell to call 911 before approaching the stricken man. Phyliss lifted her hands skyward, appealing to heaven. Gertrude moved her wheelchair closer to the carnage. “Serves him right,” she muttered. “He'd better not have ruined that bush. Grandpa Grover planted it during the Depression. It cheered him up—until he had his nervous breakdown.”

Judith barely heard her mother. The wind whipped her shoulder-length hair into her eyes, cut through her merino sweater, and made her teeth chatter. Wayne was trying to extricate Willie from the shrubbery. Joe grabbed Wayne by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away. “You'll do more harm than good,” he warned. “Wait for the medics.”

Sweetums was creeping under the lily-of-the-valley bush, apparently to enjoy a close-up view of human suffering.

“My leg!” Willie cried. “I think it's broke!”

“Help's on the way.” Joe sounded as if he was talking through gritted teeth. “The EMTs know how to get here.” His ironic side-long glance at Judith added fuel to her aggravation.

“But those thorns are gouging him,” Wayne said. “See—he's all scratched up and bloody.”

“Ugh,” Phyliss said. “He looks like he's already in hell. I'm going to put the laundry away. It's cold out here.”

“For once,” Gertrude muttered, “I agree with that crazy religious battle-ax.” The old lady revved up her wheelchair and zoomed off to the toolshed. She didn't bother to turn back when a garbage can lid blew down the driveway, clattering loudly before bumping into a tire on Judith's Nissan. Leaves from the cherry tree sailed to earth along with twigs, dead camellia blooms, and small branches from the tall cedar behind the Dooleys' fence. As a leitmotif for the winds of October, Willie continued moaning and groaning.

Judith couldn't endure watching the excruciating drama. Without another word, she followed Phyliss inside and slammed the door.

“Didn't I tell you that man in the red suit was Satan?” the cleaning woman demanded as she picked up the hamper. “He got what he deserved. A fallen angel, that's the devil.” She turned on the fat heels of her corrective shoes and started up the back stairs.

Judith headed for the Excedrin on the kitchen windowsill. Soon the cozy cul-de-sac would resound with a cacophony of sirens and a glare of flashing lights. The scenario was all too familiar. A couple of months earlier, another guest had been injured by falling into the pyracantha. The bush seemed cursed. Or she was. Maybe a break from the B&B was overdue. She swallowed two tablets as the doorbell sounded. The old school clock showed it was just past four, time for guests to check in. She hurried to greet the new arrivals.

The two young women who stood on the porch didn't fit Judith's information about the expected guests. They certainly weren't the older couple from Tennessee who were celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary or the two middle-aged couples from Alaska or the father-son combo from Montreal.

“I'm afraid I'm booked tonight,” Judith apologized, “but I can find you alternate lodgings at another B&B.”

The newcomers giggled. “We're here about the rental in the cul-de-sac,” the blond girl said, exposing deep dimples. “Is it you or your daughter who's showing it?”

Judith frowned. “Oh? Oh! You mean Mrs. Rankers. Her daughter is in real estate.” She pointed at the hedge. “Try next door.”

The blonde pulled up the hood of her green raincoat. “We'll do that.”

The taller, dark-haired young woman used one hand to clutch her billowing red jacket closed and held the storm door with the other hand to keep it from blowing shut. “Thanks,” she said. “Where's the owner?”

“She moved.” Judith couldn't bear to revisit the disaster that had forced Joe's ex-wife to leave town the previous August.

“Thanks again,” the taller girl said as they started down the steps.

Judith grabbed the storm door to keep it from banging. “Good luck,” she called, using her free arm to prop up the sheaf of corn-stalks that had blown over. Luckily, the jack-o'-lanterns, the autumn leaf wreath, and the colorful gourds remained in place. She turned to go inside when she heard sirens whining nearby. Luckily, the young women had disappeared behind the laurel hedge. A moment later the medic van turned into the cul-de-sac. Judith hurriedly shut the door.

She wasn't in the mood to face the medics and the firefighters and the ambulance drivers and whichever other emergency personnel might arrive at Hillside Manor. She went into the front parlor and peeked through the tall, narrow window overlooking the driveway. Joe was motioning for the medics to come ahead. Maybe, Judith hoped, the rest of the usual crisis crew wouldn't show up. Joe could handle the situation. He knew the ins and outs of city departments, how to deal with disaster, cope with all sorts of…

Her shoulders sagged.
I really am worn out. Maybe I haven't recovered from dealing with Vivian and the dead body in her backyard. Maybe sitting in a private compartment and watching the world go by would do me good.
She closed her eyes and tried to relax. To her relief, there were no more sirens. Guests wouldn't have to trip over firefighters and ambulance attendants.