The Wurst Is Yet to Come (29 page)

“Here's Jessi now,” Judith said, seeing her arrive with Barry.

Jessi greeted Mrs. Bauer while Judith picked up the sketch and showed it to Barry. “Do you know this person?”

Barry stared at the drawing before giving Judith a quizzical look. “No. Should I?”

“Probably not.” She lowered her voice. “Are you leaving now?”

“I don't have to,” Barry said. “The snow's really coming down.”

Judith held on to the sketch in case Jessi might know the man. She didn't want to explain why she'd asked Barry, but it was Mrs. Bauer who craned her neck to stare at the alleged suspect's likeness.

“Oh, dear God,” she murmured, turning pale even as she adjusted her glasses. “No, no!”

“What is it?” Judith asked in alarm.

Mrs. Bauer peered at the drawing again. “Perhaps I am mistaken. It's been so long . . . surely it can't be . . . but I could swear that is Jack, the man who ruined my daughter.”

All eyes regarded the old lady with puzzlement. “Jack who?” Judith finally asked.

Taking an embroidered handkerchief from her purse, Mrs. Bauer removed her glasses and wiped her eyes. “Jack Hellman, the son of the horrible man who tried to destroy my husband's reputation. Those Hellmans are the most evil people on earth! Please tear up that picture. I think I'm going to faint.”

Mrs. Bauer did just that. Luckily, Barry caught her before she hit the floor. “Smelling salts, anyone?” Renie said in a weary voice.

“No,” Jessi said, “but I'll get some water.” She scurried out through the door at the end of the counter.

Barry had gotten down on the floor, propping up Mrs. Bauer with his knee. She seemed to be coming around. “Hellman?” he said softly.

“I think,” Judith said reluctantly, “his father committed suicide. Before your time, though.”

Barry shook his head. “Why have you got a picture of his son?”

Before Judith could explain, Jessi appeared with a glass of water and a damp facecloth. Mrs. Bauer had opened her eyes, but looked dazed. “I am so sorry,” she mumbled. “Very foolish of me.”

“Not at all,” Jessi said, holding the paper cup to the old lady's lips. “You had a bad shock.”

“Yes,” she said, after sipping from the cup. “I may be wrong, but the drawing looks like Jack's father at that same age. Fifty, perhaps?”

“Probably,” Judith said.

Barry waited for Jessi to wipe off Mrs. Bauer's face before helping her to stand. “I'll walk you home,” he said. “Maybe you should rest for a few minutes. Let me get the chair from behind the counter.”

“I'll get it,” Renie said. “Hey, coz, why don't you and Barry go into the back room and get a bag for Mrs. Bauer's book?”

“Don't you have some bags . . .” Judith stopped. “Oh, you mean the heavier ones. Sure, come on, Barry,” she said, after he'd settled Mrs. Bauer in the chair.

Jessi looked mystified, but didn't say anything. Renie stealthily slipped the original sketch to her cousin. A moment later, Judith and Barry were in the shop's back room. Giving her a bewildered look, he asked what was going on with the drawing. “I told you I don't recognize the guy. I think I've heard the name ‘Hellman,' but that's about it.”

“You've seen the marker on the trail from the Pancake Schloss, though. Didn't you ever ask what it was for?”

“Sure,” Barry replied. “My parents told me it was for some old nut who'd offed himself a long time ago. It was kind of creepy, but I never thought much about it.”

Judith explained about the snowboarders. As her tale unfolded, Barry's expression changed from curiosity to abject horror.

“You mean . . . these guys saw who killed my dad?”

Judith nodded. “It sounds like it. If so, then Jack Hellman—the suicide's son—may be the killer. I think we should go see Matt Duomo.”

Barry balked. “No. We have to tell Mom first. I'll walk Mrs. Bauer home, then get Mom's car and collect you. Deal?”

Judith hesitated. “Renie should go along to stay with Mrs. Bauer.”

“Why?” Barry sounded puzzled. “She should be okay if she rests.”

Judith shook her head. “The police are shorthanded. Mrs. Bauer may be in danger. You, of all people, know there's a killer out there.”

Renie didn't argue with Judith's suggestion. “Should I be armed?” she whispered, putting on her jacket.

“Just be careful,” Judith said under her breath. “You're lethal with a pickle fork. But try getting Mrs. Bauer to talk about her daughter.”

Twenty minutes later, Barry had braved the snow to get the Escort to collect Judith, Renie, and Mrs. Bauer. Jessi had two new customers, a cheerful mother and daughter from Osoyoos, British Columbia, who didn't resemble homicidal maniacs.

Mrs. Bauer lived in a small frame house two blocks north of the police station and one block west of St. Hubert's. Along the way she had revealed some interesting, if perhaps misleading, information.

“Heinrich Hellman claimed to be Jewish,” she said from the backseat, where she was sitting with Renie. “But one evening I came to church to light a candle for my daughter. He was praying at Saint Hubert's shrine. It was quite dark inside, so he did not see me. I waited for him to finish, then I followed him outside. It was the first time I'd confronted him with the lies he'd told about my husband, Helmut. He denied everything, of course. The next day he committed suicide.”

She'd concluded the recital just as Barry had pulled in front of her house. There was no chance for Judith to ask questions. She'd have to leave that up to Renie.

“I guess I've missed a lot of background about Little Bavaria's history,” Barry said, heading for the police station. “Did Mrs. Bauer mean that Hellman wasn't Jewish or that he was nuts? And what would his son have to do with my dad? I never knew any Hellmans.”

“Major Schwartz might know,” Judith said. “He's Jewish.”

“You mean Ernie, the Dozing Cop?”

“Ernie may doze, but he's smart. The only problem is that he might not remember much about the Hellmans. Good grief,” she exclaimed, “it's snowing so hard that your windshield wipers can hardly keep up with the flakes! Won't the weather hamper the festival finale?”

Barry shrugged. “It's barely above freezing. That's why the flakes are so big. It's not unusual to have a big snow in October. Sometimes it doesn't happen again until December.”

Judith realized she shouldn't have been surprised. Even on the more temperate western side of the mountains, the weather could be unpredictable. After Barry parked the car within a few yards of the station, he insisted that Judith wait for him to help her get out.

Hernandez had been replaced behind the counter by Ernie, who looked awake. “We were expecting you,” he said. “What took so long?”

“It wasn't Barry who ID'd the sketch,” Judith said. “It was Mrs. Bauer. Did you know the Hellmans?”

“You mean the guy who offed himself? Sure. It happened a few years before I joined the force. What's he got to do with anything?”

“Was he really Jewish?”

Ernie laughed, a first for him as far as Judith was concerned. “I guess so. We ethnic types don't always hang out together. He was old.”

“What about his son?”

Ernie frowned. “Jack Hellman? Yeah, I went to high school with him. He was kind of a jerk. We weren't buddies, though I guess he was Jewish, too. No high school in Little Bavaria then. We had to bus over to Lake Shegogan. There were quite a few students in our class because it was the only high school for this whole area. Jack left town not long after graduation. I haven't seen him since.”

Judith showed Ernie the sketch.“Well?”

Ernie rested an elbow on the counter and stared at the drawing. “Yeah, that could be him after thirty years.” He looked at Barry. “You ever see him with your dad?”

“I've never seen him,” Barry replied. “I never heard of the family.”

“Your ma seen this?” Ernie asked.

“Yes,” Barry said. “I showed it to her when I went to get her car. She didn't recognize him either. This is crazy.”

“Speaking of crazy,” Judith said, “where's the chief?”

“Hey,” Ernie said, “you dissing our boss?”

“Ah . . . I meant this whole thing is crazy,” Judith said. “Maybe he can enlighten us.” But Duomo hadn't shown much interest in the sketch.

Ernie shrugged. “Go ahead. He's back in his office. But knock first. He might be busy.”

Judith made no comment as she and Barry traipsed to the chief's door. To her surprise, Duomo was alert and studying what looked like a report. “It's about time,” he said. “Got the busted bust and the bottle back from the lab. Hey, Barry, you working for FATSO these days?”

Barry looked askance at the chief's form of address. “Mrs. Jones is the sleuth. I'm Mrs. Flynn's chauffeur. It's snowing hard.”

“Yeah,” Duomo said. “I should patrol the highway, but it's too dangerous. What's up?” He winked at Judith. “I mean, with your sister.”

“My
cousin,
” Judith said, wishing she didn't spend half her time with Fat Matt trying to keep from shaking him. “Take another look at this sketch. I think, I mean
we
think,” she added for Barry's benefit, “we may have fingered Bob Stafford's killer.”

“The hell you say.” Duomo gazed at the drawing. “This guy does look kind of familiar. Is he one of my brothers?”

“Not that I know of,” Judith said. “Keep looking and add thirty years to what you might remember about the man.” Automatically, Judith did the same—and something elusive tugged at her memory.

The chief apparently took Judith seriously. “Then I think back to a twentysomething type.” He stared some more. “Yeah, could be the Hellman brat. His old man was the one who did himself in. Jim? Joe? No,
Jack,
was trouble. But he's been gone for years.” Duomo turned to Barry. “Did you ID him?”

“No,” Barry said. “Mom and I didn't recognize him. We wondered if he'd been a client of Dad's when he worked for Legal Aid.”

The chief scowled. “The jackass who wrote the letters to your pa?”

Barry nodded. “Maybe.”

Duomo tapped a pencil on his desk. “So who ID'd him?”

“Mrs. Bauer,” Judith said. “She also told us a strange story.”

Fat Matt sighed. “Let's hear it.”

Judith repeated the old lady's tale of her encounter with the senior Hellman in the church that had been followed a day later by the older man's suicide. “That's why my cousin is staying with Mrs. Bauer right now. After recognizing Jack, she could be in danger.”

“How?” Duomo scoffed. “Bob was killed over two months ago. If Jack Hellman is still around, somebody would've seen him. Hell,
I
might have seen him. But I didn't. This isn't New York or L.A. There's no place you can hide for long in Little Bavaria.”

The chief had a point. “Okay,” Judith finally said, “maybe there's no threat to Mrs. Bauer, but shouldn't you try to track down Jack in connection with Bob's homicide?”

“Yeah, sure, I'll do that.” Duomo looked at Barry. “Tell your ma I'm on the job. Good thing we got statements from those two snowshoe guys or whatever they are. Go ahead, beat it, kid. I'll give FATSO a ride back to . . . wherever she's going. Suze is probably worrying about you. By the way, if you see Jessi, tell her that Grandpa's doin' real good.”

“Thanks,” Barry said. “That's great news.” He regarded Judith dubiously. “You sure you want to stick around here?”

She nodded. “Yes. I have to report back to my cousin.”

To Judith's surprise, Barry hugged her. “Thanks. You've really taken a load off of Mom and me.” He stepped back. “I mean, your cousin has . . .” He broke into a grin. “You know what I mean.”

Barry hurried out of the office.

“Nice kid,” Duomo remarked. “Want a cigar?”

“No thanks,” Judith said. “My husband enjoys them sometimes.”

“I'll smoke one for him.” The chief took forever to get the cigar lighted. When he finally did, he eyed the ash with disgust. “Now why'd I do that? It's time for my snack. Oh, well.” He picked up the lab report. “Zip,” he said. “No usable prints, too many smudges. The bottle was clean. But Frolander's seen aconite come that way. A dose that size would kill most people, even a tough old cuss like Wessler.”

“What about Herman Stromeyer?”

“Same stuff. Different bottle. If it was in a bottle. Comes in all forms. Heck, the plant grows everywhere in this state, specially forests. Bunch of names and varieties, too. Bet you got 'em in your backyard. Invasive, but kind of pretty.”

Judith nodded. Every year she found wildflowers in her garden that had sprouted from windblown seeds. “You'll talk to Suzie?”

Duomo frowned at the cigar, which had gone out. “Think I'll have dinner there.” He grimaced. “She usually quits around eight, eight-thirty, so that means I'll have to eat late. Darn.”

“See if you can get a list of Bob's clients,” Judith said.

“Huh? You think Jack Hellman was a client?”

“Why not? Maybe he lived in the city. It's a stretch, but he might be your letter writer.”

“That's not the worst idea I've heard lately. But that still leaves us with a dead Wessler and a poisoned Stromeyer. Don't stop sleuthing.”

“I don't have much time do it,” Judith said. “I told you, my cousin and I are going home early tomorrow morning.”

The chief shook his head. “You can't leave me in the lurch.”

“I have to,” Judith asserted. “I have a B&B to run.”

Duomo chewed on the end of his unlighted cigar. “I could arrest you. Then you'd have to stay.”