This Old Souse (24 page)

Renie was examining a pair of lamps on a pecan demilune chest. “Look,” she said under her breath. “Real peacock feathers around the top, amber beads on the bottom—but the silk shades are rotting away. It's a wonder they don't catch fire.”

“I'm beginning to doubt Alan's word when he told me his grandparents furnished this house on the cheap,” Judith murmured. “Originally, this stuff must have been costly, even if some of it was left here by the previous owners.” She aimed her flashlight onto the stucco walls. “See these urns on the mantel? The blue is beautiful on the plain one and the flowers on the other are so delicate.”

Renie used her own flashlight to look at the urns. “The gold scrollwork on both of them looks real. These didn't come out of a factory. The craftsmanship is too good.” She moved the beam of light to a pair of pastoral miniatures above the mantel. “These little guys are lovely, too. They almost look real.”

The phone rang close by. Judith stifled a cry and Renie jumped. The phone rang again. Pointing her flashlight in the direction of the sound, Judith spotted the old-fashioned black dial phone on a small end table next to the sofa. Gingerly, she picked the receiver up in the middle of the third ring.

“Speak up,” said a hoarse female voice on what Judith figured was an upstairs extension. “I can't hear you.”

“It's me,
Liebchen,
your Franz.”

Judith mouthed the caller's name to Renie, who hissed “Sally?” in response. Judith nodded.

“Why are you calling so late?” Sally demanded. “I was asleep.”

“Ven are you not?” Franz retorted in an ironic tone. “Anyvays, it's morning here.”

“You never remember the time difference,” Sally scolded. “After all these years…Oh, what's the use? You never listen.”

Renie had moved to stand next to Judith, trying to catch at least part of the conversation.

“You listen to me,” Franz ordered in his gruff voice. “Vy didn't you telephone me about the package? Who is this voman who told me yesterday it vas lost?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Sally declared. “I think you've finally gone crazy, Franz. And by the way, yesterday to you is still today to me.”

“Vot?”

Sally emitted a deep sigh. “Never mind.”

“I vaited to call until now so it vould be morning,” Franz said doggedly. “I didn't vant to vake you.”

“Fine, fine. What about the package? It arrived last week, safe and sound. And who is this woman you're jabbering about?”

“I don't know,” Franz replied. “She didn't say her name.”

“Tell me more about the woman,” Sally demanded.

“I don't know more,” Franz snapped. “She said she was a friend, and you were not able to speak. It vouldn't be the first time you couldn't talk on the telephone. But the package is there?”

“You're mean,” Sally retorted. “Yes, the package arrived safely and on time, thank you,” she went on, her tone growing more affable. “Porcelain candlesticks fetch a good price. The silverware needs polishing, but at least the settings are almost complete. I'm not sure
about the wall plaque. Are you certain it came from an Italian palazzo?”

“I am alvays certain,” Franz huffed. “It vas part of a ceiling. There are more panels, but I save them for later.”

“All right.” Sally cleared her throat. “But I still don't like this business about some woman calling you. Was she an American?”

“Ja,”
Franz replied.

“That's very interesting,” Sally said in a musing tone. “But perhaps it doesn't matter.”

“It mattered to me,” Franz asserted. “She knew Lukas. And you and Anna, too. How is Lukas?”

“Very well,” Sally assured him. “His eyes, of course, trouble him. You received my letter?”

“Letter? Not yet. Is one coming?”

“Yes. It should be there tomorrow or the next day. We have big news,” Sally said in a smug tone. “I won't say more now, but I'll be seeing you very soon.”

“Vot?”
Franz's shout was so loud that both cousins gave a start.

“I'm hanging up now.” Sally's voice had begun to slur. “I'm very tired.”

Judith heard the dial tone. “Well.” She set the receiver down in its cradle. “Do we know now what this is all about?”

“Black-market goods? Smuggling?” Renie suggested.

“There may be more to it than that,” Judith murmured. “Let's check that other room across the hall.”

The door was locked. Once again, Judith got out her wire tool. Unlike the first time, the lock to the single-story room clicked open after less than a minute.

Judith felt as if she had stepped outside. The air was fresh; the sense of decay had evaporated. And the room itself seemed empty. Judith pointed her flashlight toward the arched front window. There were no rotting drapes. Instead, a taut shade blotted out the light.

She began to scan the stucco walls. There were two paintings directly in front of her. “Golly,” Judith said, “these are beautiful prints. They've even installed lights over them.”

One was a Rubens nude, the other a Fragonard landscape. Moving closer, Renie reached up to touch the Rubens. Then she ran her fingers over the Fragonard. For what seemed like a long time to Judith, her cousin stared at the paintings. Finally, she turned around.

“Prints?” Renie said softly. “These are the real thing.”

“What do you mean, ‘real'?” Judith inquired in a low, puzzled voice.

“I'm not an art expert,” Renie averred, “but I can tell a print from a painting. If these aren't originals, they're outstanding copies. Put your light up close, feel the texture. The canvas has small cracks. It's paint.”

Judith followed Renie's instructions. Sure enough, she could feel the brushstrokes. Shaking her head in disbelief, she turned around to see what Renie was doing.

“Holy cats!” Renie breathed. “A Holbein, a Joos van Cleve, a Titian, a Van Eyck, a couple of small Monets—this is incredible!”

Her voice had risen with excitement. Judith waved
at Renie to tone it down. “Surely,” Judith whispered, “these can't all be authentic.”

Renie was hopping with excitement. “Then why go to such trouble to have a controlled atmosphere? Why, when the rest of the place is practically falling down, keep these in a special room?” She turned back to gaze at the Titian. “Stolen artwork? Stolen twice, that is?
By
the Nazis and
from
the Nazis?”

“It makes sense,” Judith said, speaking in an awed whisper, “especially after what Uncle Corky told me about how the soldiers looted the area around Kopfstein, which happens to be very close to Berchtesgaden, where Hitler and his henchmen had their mountain retreats.”

Renie seemed mesmerized. “I can't believe we're looking at genuine art treasures. It's like being in the Louvre or the Prado.”

“How long have the Blands been selling this stuff?” Judith murmured.

“And keeping what they couldn't part with?” Renie gestured at the closed drapes. “No wonder they never let in any light. It wasn't just sensitivity of their eyes, but an effort to preserve their treasures.”

“And keep them from being seen by other people,” Judith pointed out. “That's something I don't understand. Great art should be shared with the world, but some collectors hide their masterpieces. It's so selfish and such a waste.”

“But profitable, if you're able to sell some of it,” Renie noted, still gawking at the paintings. “Now what do we do? Besides swipe the small Monets, of course.”

Judith adjusted her head scarf, which had started to
slip off her hair. “We'll go out the back way so we can check out the dining room.”

“We're tempting fate,” Renie noted, “but it's worth it.”

Going into the hall, Judith carefully closed the door behind her. “Sally sounded as if she were half-asleep when she hung up, so we may be safe for a bit. I'd like to see that statue of the Madonna that Bill noticed.”

Renie was already at the door to the dining room. The pecan and wrought iron furnishings matched the living room, though the chairs around the long table had canvaslike leather backs and seats. They looked uncomfortable to Judith, but she had a feeling they hadn't been used in years. There were a half-dozen iron wall sconces, also with candle-shaped bulbs.

There were no more paintings, but the breakfront held some exquisite china and glassware, along with what appeared to be a quartet of Dresden figurines.

Judith gazed at the Madonna, a two-foot-high statue that might have come out of a seventeenth-century church. The stars in her halo sparkled like genuine diamonds; the gold trim on her blue mantle seemed real; the serpent beneath her feet had flashing emerald eyes. The work was very old, very lifelike, and very beautiful. Judith was compelled to say a prayer for safe passage out of the house.

Apparently, the Ave Maria worked. Or maybe, Judith thought as she quietly closed the back door, they just got lucky.

“Whew!” Renie exclaimed under her breath. “I can't believe we did it!”

“Neither can I,” Judith admitted.

“We're middle-aged, soon-to-be-dowagers,” Renie
said as they moved off the small porch. “We should be at home knitting or some damned thing.”

“You can't knit,” Judith pointed out.

“Neither can you,” Renie retorted. “I'll never forget the dishrag you knitted for me when you were in high school. It was wool. When it got wet, the kitchen smelled like a dead sheep until I threw the blasted thing out. And speaking of kitchens,” she added, pointing back to the house, “that furniture in there
is
old and crappy.”

“Yes,” Judith agreed, walking to her left. “I wonder—”

“Hold it,” Renie interrupted. “Why are we going this way?” She gestured over her shoulder. “The car's over there. Aren't we done here?”

“I want to look at that fishpond up close,” Judith said, almost tripping over a moss-covered rock.

“I guarantee there aren't any fish,” Renie declared. “Let's make this quick. I'm getting nervous.
More
nervous, I should say.”

But Judith kept going. A moment later, they'd reached the pond by the collapsed greenhouse. Playing the flashlight around the broken glass, shattered wood, and remnants of plant stands, she saw nothing of interest. Ivy and berry vines crisscrossed what was left of the roof. The small structure seemed to have caved in with age and disuse.

Judith turned the light onto the outline of the pond. “This will be completely overgrown in another year. In fact, the plant and lichen growth look even thicker than they did this afternoon. That's weird.”

“The rain,” Renie said. “This time of year, you can practically watch stuff grow.”

“Not this fast,” Judith responded. “I can't bend so well. Would you mind?”

Renie complied, dropping down to the pond's edge. “You're right. There's a whole patch of Irish moss and another of creeping thyme that looks as if it's just been planted. In fact,” she continued, reaching down to pat the plants, “they're still wet, even though everything else has dried out from the rain.”

Judith leaned over as far as she dared. “The thyme is blooming. It certainly wasn't there when I came by with Lynette.”

A skittering sound from the side of the house startled the cousins. They both turned, but saw nothing. The noise stopped. Judith took a deep breath.

“More rodents,” she murmured.

“Not rats, I hope,” Renie remarked, her attention once more focused on the pond. “This is odd, too. Can you see how the cement at the bottom of the pond doesn't match the sides?”

Judith studied the seam near her feet. “You're right. And,” she added on a sad note, “so am I.”

“Huh?” Renie stood up, brushing leaves and other debris from her black slacks.

Judith's expression was bleak. “This pond was once much deeper. It had to be, for fish to survive.” As a sudden breeze blew through the tall trees, she shuddered. “I hate to say it, but I think this is a grave.”

Renie grimaced. “Any idea who's in there?”

“I can guess,” Judith replied grimly.

“After all this time,” Renie said softly, “the more I know of this house, the creepier it gets. But oh, those paintings!”

“They'd be worth killing for,” Judith said, still gazing down into the pond. “There's definitely a sinister aura around here.”

Renie, who was facing Judith, looked toward the house with a shocked expression. “There sure is,” she said in a barely audible voice. “Don't look now, but I swear to God I see a ghost.”

B
OTH COUSINS IMMEDIATELY
switched off their flashlights. Despite Renie's caution not to look at the apparition, Judith turned her head. A white-clad figure stood on the end of the second-floor balcony at the front of the house. A halolike aura glowed around the head.

“Holy Mother,” Renie breathed, “if that's a real ghost, I'm one up on Bill. Let's get a closer look.”

The wraithlike figure might have convinced most skeptics. But Judith, who relied on logic, shook her head. “Wait a minute. Let's see what your so-called ghost does next.”

Even as Judith spoke, the figure moved farther down the balcony and out of sight.

“I don't believe in ghosts,” Judith declared. “I wonder if whoever that was noticed us.”

“It better be a ghost,” Renie said stubbornly. “Then I can tell Bill. He'll be jealous.”

“You're about to find out,” Judith whispered. “Here comes your spectral buddy now.”

The apparition was coming through the back
door. Clad all in white, with the luminous shimmer around the long white hair, the figure seemed to drift rather than walk toward the cousins.

Renie made a whooping sound. “Watch! I bet I can put my hand right through this ghost! Boo!” she shouted.

But Renie's waving fingers met with all-too-real resistance. Not only did she make contact, but a gun suddenly appeared from the folds of the diaphanous white fabric.

“Who are you?” the figure demanded in the hoarse, slightly slurred voice Judith recognized from the overheard telephone call with Franz.

Judith gulped before she spoke. “Mrs. Steiner? It's me, Judith Flynn.”

“Flynn?” Sally Steiner stopped about ten feet from the cousins. “I know that name.” While she kept looking at Judith and Renie, her expression became confused. “Flynn,” she repeated to herself before speaking louder and moving a few steps closer. “You're trespassers. I can shoot you. Why are you here?”

“To see you,” Judith replied, trying to focus not on the gun, but on Sally. She wasn't wearing a bathrobe as Judith had first assumed, but a long-sleeved chiffon evening gown. Or, judging from the seed pearls that decorated the bodice, a wedding dress—a very old wedding dress, dating from a half century earlier. The shimmer in her hair was a small tiara attached to a long veil. Both dress and veil were slightly tattered and yellowed with age.

“I can't visit with you right now,” Sally said in the slurred voice that had become dreamy. “I'm going to meet my groom.”

“How nice,” Judith said. “Where is he?”

“Far away,” Sally said. “But I can get there in time. The church is very pretty, with an onion-shaped dome. You have to leave now.”

Judith noticed that although Sally looked glassy-eyed, the hand that held the gun didn't waver.

“Are Dick and Jane going with you?” Judith inquired in a voice that wasn't quite steady.

Sally slowly shook her head. “They're already gone.”

“You mean they're dead,” Judith said quietly, surprised at the calm in her voice. She waved an arm behind her. “They're buried in that fishpond, aren't they? Is Arthur there, too?”

“Arthur!” Sally's voice was tinged with contempt. “Arthur couldn't hold his liquor like I can. He fell out of a boat. A happy accident, I figured. Arthur had ethics. Anna has no sense when it comes to men.”

“But you must have been shrewd at choosing a husband,” Judith noted. “Why haven't you lived with Franz all these years?”

“Franz loves his homeland more than he loves me,” Sally said in a sad voice. “I didn't like the village where he lived. I felt isolated.” She frowned. “Like here. But it's different. I can do as I please. Now.”

Judith glanced at Renie, who was looking more annoyed than frightened. Sally was coming closer. Judith wondered how well she could see. Was her sight better in the dark than in daylight? The woman's skin was relatively unlined. She wasn't that old—late sixties, early seventies. She looked wiry and perhaps strong.

“Luke is your son, isn't he?” Judith asked. “Yours and Franz's.”

“He's
my
son,” Sally replied, her voice growing a trifle stronger. “I was only eighteen and naive, seeing the world right out of high school. I wanted to find a prince and a fairy-tale castle. It wasn't long after the war. There was plenty of royalty in those days. I thought that princes and dukes and counts must be everywhere. But alas, I met a cruel wolf—like Little Red Riding Hood instead of Cinderella—and I was violated and conceived a babe. Then I met Franz. His first wife had died young and left him childless. He wasn't royal, and he didn't own a castle, but he offered to marry me. Franz grew fond of Luke. But I couldn't let my boy be raised in a remote Austrian village. It wasn't like a fairy tale. For several years, after Dick and Jane had adopted him, I stayed with Franz out of loyalty and gratitude.” She waved the gun, which Judith recognized as a Luger. “Now you must leave or I'll have to shoot you.”

“This house,” Renie said, speaking to Sally for the first time. “I grew up around here. I was fascinated by the place.”

The sound of a car caught all three women's attention. It had stopped close by, perhaps at the opposite end of the alley from where Judith had parked.

Lunging across the five feet that separated the cousins from Sally, Renie dove at their adversary. Caught off guard, the other woman crumpled to the ground with Renie on top of her. But Sally managed to hold on to the gun.

“Wicked witch!” Sally shrieked as Judith hurried to help her cousin.

Going for the hand that grasped the Luger, Judith
tried to loosen Sally's grip. But her adversary was tenacious. Sally managed to wrench free, aiming the gun at Judith.

“Hold it!” a male voice called out. “Police!”

The cousins both froze. Sally went limp, though the gun was still in her hand. Judith turned in the direction of the approaching footsteps. Glenn Morris was striding purposefully across the grounds. There was no sign of his partner, Trash.

“I'll take the weapon,” Glenn said, lowering his voice to its normal, cool level.

The Luger slipped out of Sally's grasp, but she didn't try to get up, even after the cousins were on their feet.

“Thank God you came by,” Judith breathed. “She was going to shoot us.”

Glenn nodded curtly. He quickly walked over to Sally and retrieved the Luger. “Can you stand? I can help you.”

“I'll sit,” she replied, allowing Glenn to give her a boost.

Judith let out a sigh of relief; Renie gave herself a good shake.

Sally was sitting up, her arms clasping her knees. She took several deep breaths before speaking again to Glenn. “You're late,” she said in a sulky tone.

“Sorry,” Glenn apologized. “The patrol car was responding to your alarm. The shift change is at eleven, so they were coming from the local precinct station. I sent them away.” He turned to the cousins. “You look like burglars to me. I assume you got inside the house?”

Judith couldn't think of a fib that would cover their illegal activities. Despite her relief, she felt helpless—and confused. Which, she realized, was better than being dead. Still, something wasn't right. A shiver of fear crept up her spine.

“It's my fault,” Renie declared to Glenn. “You know about my obsession with this house. I couldn't resist the opportunity of having a look inside before the place was sold.”

“You could have looked when it went on the market,” Glenn pointed out, still holding the Luger.

“No,” Renie replied. “That would have been too late. I wanted to see it while the Blands still lived here.”

Judith found her voice. “I don't think they do,” she asserted. “Live, that is. Check out the fishpond. If you remove the concrete, you'll find Dick and Sally Bland's remains.”

Glenn smirked. “You
are
inventive, Mrs. Flynn. But you can't talk your way out of this one. You two broke into the house, setting off the alarm system summoning the police. You may have stolen some of the family's prize possessions. The patrol officers didn't get here in time because of the shift change, not to mention the recent false alarms. Mrs. Steiner chased you out of the house, but you turned on her. She'll have the bruises to show for it. Thus she has every right to shoot you.”

“Oh, do hush, Glenn,” Sally broke in. “Now we must kill them. I'm taking a chill.”

The realization struck Judith like a flash of summer lightning. “You're wrong!” she gasped at Glenn, who
was now aiming the Luger straight at her. “I should have known!”

“You do now,” Glenn said in his cool, calm voice.

“How did you get on the force?” Judith asked, still reeling from the shock. “How did you get assigned to this case?”

“Simple. I quit the LAPD and got on up here. As for this investigation, I happened to be in the area.” He laughed low in his throat. “Cause and effect, you might say. Come, come, Mrs. Flynn, surely you don't think all of the local cops are lily-white? You're married to an ex-cop. You've heard stories.”

“Yes.” Judith was barely able to mouth the word.

Renie was wearing her most perverse expression. “You killed the man known as Frank Purvis,” she said to Glenn. “You stonewalled the whole case. That's why we could never find out anything. But we discovered that Purvis was really Fred Pettibone. Why did you kill him?”

“Purvis was an alias,” Glenn replied. “Frank Pettibone was an undercover agent, assigned to international smuggling operations. He was about to nail Sally. I couldn't let that happen. But more agents would come—we had to vacate the house. You see, I've bought a yacht, and tomorrow I'm sailing away with some very nice paintings. Asia, I think. The market in Japan and Hong Kong is good, despite the economy. There are always buyers for a true masterpiece.”

“You bought the yacht from Phil,” Judith said, recovering her voice along with some of her composure.

Glenn sneered. “‘Bought'? Phil French had no choice but to give me the
Moonfleet.
Like the rest of the
family, he doesn't want to be charged with conspiracy to defraud or as accessories to murder.”

“They're all in on it?” Renie asked in amazement.

“Of course not,” Sally snapped, her vaporous mood hardening. “They're too stupid to handle such arrangements. They had to keep their mouths shut, though, or else they'd—” She clamped her lips shut.

“End up in the fishpond,” Renie finished for her.

Sally shrugged. “They hadn't had fish in there for fifty years. Dick and Jane have only been there for two. They don't have to sleep with the fishes. Fish smell bad.”

“What about Trash?” Judith asked, stalling for time. Maybe the regular patrol car would come by. Maybe Teresa was in the bathroom across the street. Maybe pigs would fly.

“Trash?” Glenn snickered. “That clod? He doesn't know anything. Last Wednesday, he was hungry, so I dropped him off at Doc's Drive-in before I caught up with the milk truck. The only one who might have worried me was Alan—word leaked out that there was a sting operation to uncover a smuggling ring in the area. Someone was being sent to confiscate a delivery.”

“Fred Pettibone,” Judith murmured, “disguised as a milkman.”

Glenn ignored the comment. “Alan was given the assignment, but he was afraid it would lead him to his family. The poor twit's been putting the station off for days while he struggles with his conscience. By the time he makes up his mind, I'll be gone and so will the artworks.”

Sally was on her feet and taking a couple of steps to
ward Glenn. “If you're not going to shoot these two, I will. It'd be better that way. I'm the one who should fire the gun. They'll test it, won't they?”

“Yes, they will.” Without taking his eyes off the cousins, Glenn moved through the tall grass toward Sally's outstretched hand. He was about to hand over the Luger when he suddenly stumbled, let out a yelp, and fell to the ground. The gun flew from his hand, settling only two feet away from Judith.

Glenn was writhing around in the overgrowth, batting at his legs. Something small but fierce clung to his calf. Judith snatched up the gun and backed away. “Quick!” she called to Renie. “Get my cell phone in the car! Call 911!”

Renie ran toward the alley. Judith kept the gun on Glenn's thrashing form, but also watched Sally, who seemed paralyzed. A hissing noise and several growls emanated from the vicinity of Glenn's shredded pants. At last, the vicious creature desisted and leaped onto Glenn's face, where it sat in triumphant splendor.

“Sweetums!” Judith cried.

Yellow eyes glowing in the dark, Sweetums merely looked smug.

Sally toppled over in a dead faint.

 

Glenn used his scratched and bleeding hands to try to dislodge the cat. But Sweetums seemed intent on smothering his prey. Indeed, the animal was preening a bit, licking his paws and scratching behind one ear.

Renie had rejoined Judith. “They're on their way.” A wicked glint shone in her eyes. “I told them, ‘Officer down.'”

Judith couldn't help but smile. “Get his gun. It's probably in a shoulder holster.”

Renie walked over to the still-struggling Glenn Morris. “Hi, Sweetums,” she said. “Nice work.” For good measure, she put a foot on Glenn's midsection. “Stop wiggling and stay put or I'll jump up and down on you until you look like a busted balloon.”

“By the way,” Judith called to Glenn Morris, “I
will
fire this gun if I have to. And I won't hit my cousin.”

A strangled cry emerged from Glenn's throat as he finally heaved Sweetums off of his head. The cat landed on his feet, arched his back, hissed, and went right for Glenn's throat. Renie, meanwhile, had managed to dislodge Glenn's 9mm Glock from its holster.