Vi Agra Falls (18 page)

Judith's expression turned grim. “I think maybe he's not. At least, not as of the last few days. I'm wondering if he's the murdered mystery man.”

U
ncle Al answered the phone on the fifth ring. “What's the score?” he asked in his typical fashion. “I see somebody else cashed in his chips by your place the other night. What's the morning line on whether or not you'll nail the killer? I'll take five-to-one. It's money in the bank.”

Judith was accustomed to Uncle Al's sporting attitude. “How come,” she asked, “you're not at the track today?”

“Bunch of nickel nags running,” Uncle Al replied. “No big stakes races on a Wednesday. Maidens, claiming, glue-factory futures. Why? You want a tip? I've got one for tomorrow in the sixth. Little Juice, probably going off at eight-to-one.”

“No, thanks, Uncle Al,” Judith said. “I'm calling about an old pal of yours, Johnny Agra. Is he still…around?”

“Johnny Agra,” Uncle Al said in a musing tone. “No, Johnny's long gone. After his restaurant folded years ago, I heard he died or moved out of town. L.A., maybe. Same thing, as far as I'm concerned. Wasn't he married to Joe's ex at one time?”

“The very same,” Judith said, watching Renie finish preparing the guests' vegetable platter. “The dead body was found in her backyard.”

“No kidding!” Uncle Al chuckled. “The TV news left out
the name of the owners. They just said a corpse had been found outside of a home on Heraldsgate Hill, and then the body was stolen out of the morgue. Helluva note. You're not even safe after you're dead these days.” He chortled. “It wasn't Johnny, was it?”

“Not if he's been dead for years,” Judith replied. “You're sure about that?”

“You mean, would I bet on it?” Uncle Al paused. “Depends on the odds. Could be he had a reason to disappear. Still, if he was alive, I might've heard something about him. I've got connections.”

“Oh, yes,” Judith said, glancing at Renie. “You have connections.”

“Not to mention,” Renie murmured, “a hotline to every gambling site on-and offshore on the planet.”

“I was just curious,” Judith went on. “Thanks. And good luck with that hot tip tomorrow.”

She hung up. “Uncle Al thinks Johnny may be dead. He'd bet on it, if the odds were good.”

“Uncle Al would bet on anything,” Renie pointed out. “He put a hunsky on how long Cousin Trixie's third marriage would last. And won. Four years, seven months, a record for her at the time.”

“I know. It was a family pool. I missed by two years.”

“So,” Renie said, adding one more radish to the vegetable platter, “you're at a dead end—so to speak—with Johnny Agra.”

“Apparently.” Judith put the crab, cheddar, and mayonnaise mixture into puff pastry shells.

Looking pensive, Renie sipped her bourbon. “If Johnny died here, the local papers would've run his obit. He was well known in the restaurant trade. Want me to check him out to see if he checked out?”

“You mean on the computer?” Judith hesitated. “Go ahead. But if he died years ago, won't you have to pay to get into the archives?”

“It's a business expense, and therefore tax deductible,” Renie pointed out. “I can give it a try.” She went to the computer.

Judith started to turn on the oven, but decided that was a bad idea. The temperature felt as if it already must be ninety in the kitchen. Instead, she put the crab puffs in the microwave. “Any luck?” she asked.

“No. I can only go back a year, and I'm too inept to figure out this site.” Renie signed off. “We could go to the courthouse tomorrow.”

“It's not worth it,” Judith said, then clapped a hand to her head. “I forgot to call Joe back about Caitlin! My mind's turned to mush!” She snatched up the receiver from the counter and dialed Joe's cell.

Drink in hand, Renie wandered out of the kitchen. Judith held her breath while the phone rang four times. Just when she thought Joe wasn't picking up, she heard his voice—barely.

“I can't hear you very well,” she all but shouted. “Where are you?”

“I'm eating in…” He faded away.

“Call me back!” Judith said loudly, and clicked off.

Renie returned to the kitchen. “Frankie passed out,” she announced. “Or else he's dead.”

“Don't say things like that!” Judith snapped. “Wake him up, get him moving before the other guests come down to socialize.”

“Can't,” Renie replied. “A visitor is approaching.”

Judith stared at Renie. “Who?”

“A middle-aged man dressed in a courtly manner.” She paused as the doorbell sounded. “Shall I let him in?”

“I'll do it,” Judith retorted, wondering what her cousin meant by
a courtly manner
. “If Joe calls back, tell him to hang on.”

At the front door, Judith realized Renie's description was apt. The handsome, silver-haired man with a neatly trimmed Van Dyke wore a cream-colored summer suit, a navy blue tie with a crisp white shirt, and, upon seeing Judith, doffed his navy blue straw fedora. “Mrs. Flynn?” he inquired softly.

“Yes.” Judith smiled. “Are you here about the vacancy?”

“Vacancy?” He turned to look out into the cul-de-sac. “Oh! Of course.” He gestured with a well-manicured hand. “May I come in?”

“Well…yes,” Judith said, stepping aside. “I'd like to help you if I can. Did you talk to someone at the state association?”

Entering the house, the man chuckled richly, if quietly. “No, but I will if that's necessary. My name's Mandrake Stokes.”

Judith paused in the entry hall to shake her visitor's hand. “The parlor would be best,” she said. “Here, this door. You must tell me how you found our place.”

“Of course.” Mr. Stokes gazed around the cozy parlor. “A delightful setting,” he remarked, with a touch of the South in his melodious voice.

Judith indicated one of the two matching chairs. “You'll have to forgive me,” she said, puzzled. “I didn't realize you were coming.”

Mr. Stokes frowned. “You didn't? The letter was sent last week.”

“We had a substitute postman,” Judith said, sitting in the other chair. “I'm afraid some of our mail went astray.”

“Ah! I see.” He smiled warmly. “I have the entire presentation in my car. When would you like to study it?”

“Presentation?” Judith frowned. “I'm sorry, I don't understand.”

Renie stood in the parlor doorway. “It's Joe,” she said, holding the receiver. “Can you talk to him?”

Judith stood up. “Excuse me, Mr. Stokes. I must take this call.” Hurrying out of the parlor, she shoved Renie into the dining room. “If this guy's a salesman,” she said in a low voice, “get rid of him. If he's involved in Vivian's condo project, stall him.” She spoke to Joe as she moved into the kitchen. “Caitlin is here because Vivian wanted her help,” she said. “Where are you?”

“I was having dinner in the bar,” he replied, sounding cross. “I'm back in my room. Where did you think I was, out on Peachtree Street looking for hookers?”

“Of course not,” Judith asserted. “Anyway, Caitlin will probably call you later. She's staying here tonight. I had an early departure. The Griggses from Iowa simply walked out.”

“It happens,” Joe remarked. “Where's Caitlin now?”

“Collecting her luggage from Vivian's,” Judith replied. “You'll never guess who showed up to see her.”

“No guessing games,” Joe grumbled. “It's been a long day after a short night.”

“Her half-brothers, Doug and Barry,” Judith informed him.

“Right, I told you they were waiters at the party. She got on with them okay. Got to go. The light on my phone just went on. It's probably a call-back from one of the bank guys I met today. Talk to you later.” Joe hung up.

The abrupt conclusion rankled, but Judith shrugged it off. She hurried back to the parlor, anxious to find out why her unexpected visitor had come to Hillside Manor.

Renie was by the hearth, chatting with Mr. Stokes. “Hey, Coz,” she said, “Manny here wants to know what you intend to do with your cows.”

“My—” Judith stopped in her tracks. “Sorry. Did you say
cows
?”

Renie nodded. “You two sort that out while I finish the appetizers.”

Staring at her cousin as she left the parlor, Judith felt as if she was having a bad dream. “Excuse me,” she said to Mr. Stokes, “but I don't own any cows.”

Mandrake Stokes looked equally mystified. “Surely you haven't sold them off?”

“No,” Judith replied, leaning on the back of the empty chair. “Where would I keep cows around here?”

Mr. Stokes stroked his short silver beard. “There must be some confusion. I understood that following your move here, you intended to sell the Double UB Ranch in order to build condominiums. I was informed by the university that the livestock would be included.”

Enlightenment dawned. “Ah! I'm not
Vivian
Flynn. I'm
Judith
Flynn. Mrs. Flynn—that is, Vivian—is now Mrs. Buss. She lives a couple of doors away.”

“Well!” Mr. Stokes seemed embarrassed. “I must beg forgiveness for my error,” he said, standing up. “Not to mention wasting your valuable time. I assume Mrs. Flynn—that is, Mrs.
Buss
?—used her maiden name instead of her husband's.”

The concept of Vivian as any sort of “maiden” in the true sense almost triggered a derisive outburst from Judith, but she managed to maintain a relatively sober expression. “That's possible. She married two Busses.” The straight face became more difficult to keep. “The first Buss crashed—I mean,
died
. The other one—” Judith couldn't help it. She started to laugh, leaning on the chair for support.

“Yes, well…” Mr. Stokes backed away toward the door. “If you could point me in the proper direction, I'll call on her now.”

But Judith couldn't stop laughing. “Or perhaps not,” Mr. Stokes murmured. “I'll check my notes for the correct address.” He all but ran into the entry hall and out the door.

Renie strolled into the parlor. “What
did
you do with all
those cows?” she asked with a puckish expression. “It must have been pretty damned funny. Or are you hysterical?”

Judith tried to stop laughing. Gasping for breath, she began to sputter. “I…can't…help…it.”

“I was eavesdropping by the other parlor door off of the living room,” Renie explained. “I gather that Herself inherited a cattle ranch from Potsy. That must be worth a lot of moo-lah.”

“Don't!” Judith cried, and finally caught her breath. “Yes.” She paused, a hand to her breast. “This murder case is so crazy. Or is it because Vivian's involved? Is she what's sending me over the edge?”

“She usually does,” Renie replied, turning to glance out into the hall. “Here come some of the guests for the social hour. Do you want me to pretend Frankie is a stuffed animal decorating your sofa, or shall I feign ignorance?”

Judith narrowed her eyes at Renie. “Stuffed like Oscar?”

“Of course not!” Renie shook her head in disbelief. “Oscar is real!”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Judith went through the parlor door that led into the living room. The two older couples from Bakersfield had gathered by the buffet, where Renie had set out the appetizers, a pitcher of pink lemonade, and a bottle of sherry. As Judith entered, they stared at her with unconcealed curiosity.

“Excuse me,” the taller of the two men said, “but is that fellow on the couch asleep?”

“He's not well,” Judith replied. “He…fell down. I told him to rest until he felt like walking up the stairs to his room. Poor man,” she added, trying to look sympathetic.

“Oh, my!” the tall man's wife exclaimed, and poked her husband's arm. “Maybe you should have a look at him, Bob.” She turned to Judith. “My husband was an army medic during the Korean War.”

Bob tweaked his wife's cheek and chuckled. “You don't think I've lost my touch? Sure, why not? I always did okay by our kids when they were young and took a tumble.”

Judith had qualms. “I'm not sure that's a good idea. I'm responsible for what happens in my B&B. Mr. Buss wasn't badly hurt.”

The other man pointed a pudgy finger at the brandy snifter. “Maybe he passed out. Looks to me as if he's been drinking, Bob.”

“Aha!” Bob chuckled again. “Guess you're right,” he said to Judith. “Let sleeping dogs lie, and all that.”

The pudgy man's wife disagreed. “He doesn't seem to be breathing. What if he's…dead?”

Bob considered the question. “I suppose I could take his pulse.” He looked at Judith. “That okay?”

Anxiety rising, Judith had to make a decision. “I can take his pulse,” she said. “I've had medical experience, too.”
If,
she thought unhappily,
that includes determining if a putative corpse is really dead
.

“Sure,” Bob agreed. “Go ahead. It's your B&B.”

Judith was walking over to the sofa when the honeymooners came into the living room. Renie was right behind them.

“Guess what?” she said. “The groom here is a doctor.”

Judith stared at the young man. “You are?”

“A resident,” he replied, “at Alaska Regional Hospital in Anchorage. I'm a cardiologist.”

“That's good enough for me,” Judith said, and backpedaled away from the sofa to stand by Renie under the archway. “How'd you know?” she whispered.

“How do you think?” Renie shot back. “I overheard you in here and when the lovebirds came downstairs I took a wild shot and asked if either of them had any medical expertise. You got lucky.”

“Maybe,” Judith allowed.

“His pulse is faint,” the groom announced. “He should be hospitalized. Call nine-one-one.”

Judith jabbed Renie in the ribs. “You call,” she whispered. “Use your cell. I refuse to get into it with one of those snotty operators.”