Vi Agra Falls (23 page)

“That was brief and informal,” Griffin said. “When will he return?”

Not soon enough,
Judith thought. “Tomorrow night, maybe. Or Saturday. He's working.”

Griffin made a note for the first time since the interview had begun. “Who else resides here?”

“You mean other than guests?”

“Of course.”

At that moment, Caitlin stepped into the parlor. “Everything's ready. I'm going to—” She stopped, looking tense. “I have errands to run. 'Bye.” She hurried off through the entry hall.

“Who's that?” Griffin inquired.

“My stepdaughter, visiting from Switzerland,” Judith replied, hearing the college students coming out of the dining room. “No, she wasn't here when the murder occurred.”

“No one else?” Griffin inquired.

“My mother has a separate apartment in back of the house.”

Griffin looked thoughtful. “She's quite elderly, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“That's it?”

“Yes.” Sensing that the interview was about to end, Judith
held up a hand. “I realize you find me…overly inquisitive, but did Adelita Vasquez attend the Buss party?”

Griffin scowled. “Vasquez? Oh, the young woman who works for Mr. and Mrs. Buss. No. She had the night off to visit relatives and didn't return until shortly before midnight. Why do you ask?”

The honeymooners' laughter could be heard as they headed out the front door. “You checked her alibi?” Judith inquired.

“Yes.” Griffin's face had become impassive. “If your husband is a retired policeman, you should know how cops interact with witnesses. We ask, you answer. That's it.” She closed her notebook with a vengeance. “We'll contact Mr. Flynn when he—” A loud crash and a shattering of glass startled both women. A male voice screamed in pain. A female voice shrieked obscenities.

“What,” Griffin asked, finally showing some animation, “is that?”

Judith put a hand to her head. “My cousin. And probably your partner.” She walked as fast as she could, heading for the kitchen. Griffin was right behind her.

Renie was clutching a plate close to her bosom and glaring at Almquist, who was cowering in front of the stove. “Get this freeloader out of here,” she yelled, “or I'm calling the cops!”

“He
is
the cops,” Judith said, trying to avoid stepping on the broken plate and shattered juice glass on the kitchen floor.

Renie snarled as she stared at Almquist. “A cop? So what? Does that give him the right to steal my breakfast? I'm filing a complaint!”

“She attacked me!” Almquist shouted. “She took my juice!”

“Ha!” Renie thrust out her chin. “He took my eggs!”

“Could we have a truce?” Judith demanded in disgust.

“Truce?” Renie looked shocked. “When did I ever give in?”

“Never,” Judith shot back. “But that doesn't mean you're
right.” She turned to Griffin. “You said you were done here. It'd be wise to leave and take your hungry partner with you.”

“You offered me food!” Almquist cried in an offended voice.

“I did,” Judith agreed, still calm. “But not all of it. Let's forget this incident happened.” She shot Griffin a sharp glance. “None of this is a credit to anyone involved. I cannot imagine this kind of behavior by the police when my husband was on the force.”

Griffin apparently decided to cut her losses, which was just as well, since Renie was still snarling. “Yes,” the female detective agreed. “Let's go, Jay. Brush the egg off your sleeve.”

Judith followed the pair to the front door. Griffin, however, wasn't quite finished. “That woman's your cousin? Does she live here?”

“No,” Judith said emphatically. “And she wasn't around the night before the murder. She knows nothing.”

“She knows how to make a scene,” Griffin murmured and stalked out of the house.

In the kitchen, Renie was sweeping up the crockery and glass. “The breakage rate is climbing,” she remarked in an ordinary voice. As usual, her temper was quick to ignite and almost as quick to extinguish. “Are you sure those are real cops?”

“I assume so,” Judith said. “Like most of the younger set, they're a different breed. Not that cops or any other profession weren't flawed in the past. People are people. The difference, maybe, is style, not substance. Can you check some records on the computer?”

Using a dustpan, Renie dumped the broken pieces into a small garbage can. “What now?”

“Divorce records for Herself.”

“Gee,” Renie said, “I'm not sure there'd be room on your hard drive to download all of them.”

“I only want one—the first, from Johnny Agra.”

Renie got out a clean plate, filled it with some of the leftover food, and sat down at the computer. “I'll try to find a site where you don't have to pay for looking at the records.”

Judith nodded absently as she opened the phone directory. “Ah! I found Carney Mitchell with an Eastside address. I'm calling him.”

Renie looked up from the monitor. “Carney Mitchell? Who's that?”

“A retired cop who showed up at Vivian's party,” Judith replied, dialing the number. “Carney?” she said as a male voice answered on the third ring. “This is Judith Flynn, Joe Flynn's wife. How are you?”

“Ah—fine,” Carney replied, sounding startled. “What's up?”

“Joe's out of town,” Judith said, “but he'll be back this afternoon.” She ignored Renie's puzzled look. “He saw you at Vivian's party and wanted me to ask if you could have a drink with us around five. For old times' sake.”

“Today?” Carney paused. “Heck, I can't make it today. In fact, I'm heading off for vacation in a couple of hours. Tell Joe I'll try to get together with him when I get back, okay?”

“Sure,” Judith said. “By the way, have you got a number for Andy Pruitt? My phone book doesn't have listings for people who live as far north as he does.”

“I'm not sure,” Carney answered. “Andy spends most of the year in Arizona or someplace. Until Vi's bash, I hadn't seen him in six years. Got to run. Got to pack. For vacation.”

“Have fun,” Judith said, and clicked off. “Liar.”

Renie turned to look at Judith. “Corny's a liar?”

“Carney
. Yes. He says he's leaving on vacation. I don't believe him. He's avoiding me. Or Joe.”

“If Carney came here, how would you explain Joe's absence?”

Judith shrugged. “That's easy. His flight home got canceled. How are you doing there, Coz?”

“Not so good,” Renie said. “I can't find a divorce decree in this city or county for Vivian and Johnny Agra. What was her maiden name?”

“I don't think I ever knew,” Judith admitted. “I doubt if she remembers.”

Caitlin came through the back door. “Why,” she demanded, looking frazzled, “did I decide to drop in on my mother? Why didn't I just go past her house and do my errands?”

“Your mother's up?” Judith said, surprised. “It's only ten o'clock.”

“For all I know, she never went to bed.” Caitlin pointed to the phone directory on the counter. “May I use that?”

Judith nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I wish I'd never come,” Caitlin grumbled, flipping through the yellow pages. “Living abroad is the smartest thing I ever did. Whenever I see my mother, I get trapped in her—Ah! Here it is, The Travel Inn at the bottom of the hill.” She got her cell phone out of her purse and dialed.

“Progress?” Judith asked her cousin in a low voice.

“I finished breakfast,” Renie murmured. “That's about it.”

“How far back do those records go?” Judith inquired.

“Quite a ways,” Renie said.

“Maybe Caitlin can help us. She might know—” Judith stopped as Caitlin asked to be connected to a Mandrake Stokes.

“Yes,” Caitlin said into the phone. “I think he wasn't checking out until tomorrow. Would you please have him call me? The number is…”

“The dapper guy who couldn't tell one Mrs. Flynn from another?” Renie whispered.

“It must be.”

Caitlin thanked whoever was at the other end and hung
up. “I'm not calling my husband,” she declared. “Mom thinks lawyers must be able to solve every legal problem. She has no understanding that many lawyers, like Claude, specialize. And she wants free advice.”

“On what?” Judith asked.

Caitlin poured herself a mug of coffee. “She's trying to unload Potsy's ranch. It's huge, one of the biggest in Oklahoma. This Mr. Stokes came to see her yesterday to make an offer on behalf of a college near the ranch. They want to lease it as part of their agricultural curriculum. At least that's what I figured out from her garbled account. Now she insists that I meet with this Stokes and try to understand what's going on. Frankly, that sort of thing is out of my league.”

“I met Mandrake Stokes,” Judith said. “He got mixed up and came here first by mistake.”

Caitlin's green eyes widened. “Really? He sounds addled, too. Not that I blame Mom for wanting to unload the property, but she has no head for business, and of course Billy doesn't, either.”

“Would this sale involve Frankie and Marva Lou?” Judith asked.

Caitlin shrugged. “I've no idea. Mom claims she got everything in the will. What she needs is a competent local attorney.”

Judith gazed at her cousin. “Bub?”

“No.” Renie shook her head. “I'm too fond of my brother-in-law to let him get involved with Vivian.”

“Good point,” Judith murmured. “Caitlin, what's your mother's maiden name?”

Caitlin smiled. “Smith. Really. Vivian Smith. Why?”

Judith decided to be candid. “I'm trying to figure out when she got her first divorce decree. Renie can't find it under Johnny
Agra's name. Is it possible she didn't get the divorce in this city or county?”

“Anything is possible with Mom,” Caitlin said dourly. “She could've gone to Nevada in those days for a quickie divorce. She always had ties there, which, I think, is why she hustled Dad to—” She grimaced. “I'm sorry. I know that's a sore point with you. But you see what I mean.”

Judith dismissed the reference. “What kind of ties?”

“Her older brother, George, was a chef at one of the casinos,” Caitlin explained. “I forget which one. I gather that many of the old landmarks have been demolished to make way for lavish new hotel-casinos. Anyway, George has been dead for a few years. I must dash.” She grabbed her shoulder bag and went out the back way.

“I'm dashing, too,” Renie said. “I have to get an estimate on the toilet damage so I can submit a claim to the city or our insurance company. And I'll have to visit my mother to prove I'm still alive.”

After Renie left, Judith tried to focus on her daily tasks. She found a new bottle of furniture polish for Phyliss, who claimed she was losing her sight, but could be cured by putting mud packs on her eyes like the blind man in the Bible. Two more reservation requests came in for October, one from Maryland and the other from Ontario. It was almost lunchtime when Mavis Lean-Brodie called.

“Listen up, Judith,” Mavis said in the less-than-cheery voice she often used on TV. “You're going to owe me for this one.”

“Which is?” Judith asked warily.

“I found out who claimed the body from the morgue. Interested?”

Judith tensed in anticipation. “Yes.”

“It was the vic's daughter,” Mavis said, sounding smug. “Aileen
Rosenthal of Culver City, California. The vic is Carlo Giovanni Di Marco.” She spelled the names slowly and precisely.

Judith was puzzled. “How'd you manage that?”

“Can't tell you,” Mavis replied. “I'm a journalist, remember? I don't reveal my sources. In fact, I can't reveal what I just told you, at least not in public. This whole thing at the morgue was a screwup. A couple of people could get canned if I used this on the air.”

“What if someone else in the media gets hold of it? They may not…” Judith paused. “I have a problem using your name and ‘scruples' in the same sentence, but some journalists are unprincipled.”

“Not a chance, and never mind why,” Mavis said. “As for ‘scruples,' what about you? How many lies have you told in the course of your career as FATSO?”

Judith sighed. “Okay, we're even. I'll try to pay you back eventually, but frankly, I don't see how this helps solve the murder.”

“Neither do I,” Mavis retorted. “That's how you can show your gratitude. I get the goods, you nail the killer. Good luck.”

Mavis rang off.

T
he names Mavis had given Judith rang no bells. She couldn't think of any connection, unless the dead man had stolen Charles Brooks's wallet. But what was the link between Di Marco and Brooks? Logic eluded her. Judith stared out through the kitchen window, but her brain felt as thick, if not as vigorous, as the Rankerses' hedge.

She grabbed the receiver, hit the caller ID button, and retrieved Mavis's number. “You left something out,” Judith said after Mavis answered on the second ring. “Where is this Di Marco from?”

Mavis groaned. “God, but you're a pain. How should I know? He didn't have any proper ID, or else the body wouldn't have been misidentified in the first place. Try Jupiter. I'm up against deadline.” She severed the connection.

A few minutes later the phone rang just as Judith started making Gertrude's lunch.

“Just letting you know what's going on in Dixie,” Joe said. “I'm heading out for a dinner meeting with a retiree in Kennesaw who worked with the Wirehoser candidate. Dare I ask how it's going with you?”

“It's not.” Judith sat down at the kitchen table and considered giving Joe a detailed report, but thought better of it. Many of the bits and pieces she'd collected in her head were guesswork. That was anathema to Joe, a veteran detective who'd relied primarily on solid evidence. “When will you be home?”

“I don't know yet,” he replied. “Tomorrow night? More likely Saturday. These southerners really do live at a more leisurely pace. I guess it's the heat and humidity.”

“I don't blame them,” she said. “It doesn't seem as hot here as it did yesterday. I have a question—why would Carney Mitchell avoid me?”

“Carney? What're you talking about?”

Judith wished she hadn't asked. “Well…it was something Ray Campbell said.”

“Ray Campbell? You mean
that
Ray Campbell?” Joe's tone had become irritated. “When the hell did you talk to Ray?”

“He was at Vivian's the other day when I dropped by,” Judith admitted. “He was at the party, right?”

“I saw him, but that was it,” Joe replied, still annoyed. “I didn't really know Ray. The only thing we had in common was…you know.”

“Yes, I do.” It was Judith's turn to get riled. “Never mind. Here's Mother. Have a nice trip to Kennesaw.” She banged down the phone.

Gertrude was sailing up the back porch ramp in her motorized wheelchair, announcing her arrival with the ga-goo-ga horn she'd attached to the controls. “I'm on a hunt,” she announced. “I'm going to shake down your cleaning woman. Where is that crazy old bat?”

“Upstairs,” Judith replied. “Are you still looking for your candy?”

“You bet,” Gertrude retorted as Sweetums padded softly behind the wheelchair. “Did you ask her about it?”

“I forgot,” Judith confessed. “It's been hectic here this morning.”

“So?” The old lady glared at her daughter. Sweetums had leaped into Gertrude's lap, a habit he'd recently acquired, and he seemed to enjoy going along for the ride. “Between your crazy guests and those dead bodies you keep finding, how do you expect to run this house on a system? Remember what your Grandma Grover said—you have to have a system, or you don't get anything done. She never found any dead bodies, I can tell you that.”

“Maybe not,” Judith responded, “but Grandpa Grover found a severed head under his streetcar when he was a conductor for the city. He found one on the train tracks, too, when he worked in the sawmill.”

“That's to be expected,” Gertrude said. “Trolleys, trains, trucks—people are clumsy when they're going somewhere. What's for lunch?”

“Ham and cheese with fresh cherries and potato chips.”

“Dessert?”

“Ice cream,” Judith said. “It's too hot to bake.”

“Not in the cold storage box where I live. It can't be over fifty degrees.”

At that moment, Phyliss appeared from the back stairs. “What's going on with those people who got hauled off to the hospital? Are they coming back, or did they go to meet Jesus?”

“I'm not sure,” Judith answered, noticing that Phyliss had a white-and-brown box in her hand. “They're still in the hospital. Just make sure the room is tidy. What are you holding?”

“A couple of chocolates are in this box, and they're half melted in this ungodly heat,” Phyliss replied. “Do I toss them or what?”

Gertrude squirmed around to look at the cleaning woman, who was standing behind the wheelchair. “Let's see those!” she barked.

Phyliss dropped the box in Gertrude's lap. “You can have 'em,” she said, heading for the basement. “I've got laundry to put in the dryer.”

“I told you so!” Gertrude shouted. “This is my candy! Granny Goodness, my favorite! How come that greedy pig didn't eat all of them?”

Judith stared at the box her mother had opened. “Because she didn't eat any of them. These belonged to the guests who got sick.”

“Serves them right,” Gertrude declared. “Melted, my foot! Soft, maybe, but stick these last two in the icebox and they'll be fine.” She replaced the lid and shoved the chocolates at Judith.

“I'm not sure anybody should eat them,” Judith murmured.

“What's that? I'm deaf, you know.”

“They may be poisoned,” Judith said, putting the candy box into a plastic garbage liner bag.

Gertrude was aghast. “You think Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince are trying to kill me?” She waved an impatient hand. “Vance has got a mouth on her and doesn't know when to keep it shut, but she's good-hearted. You're talking through your hat!”

“No, Mother,” Judith said defiantly, “I am
not
accusing Auntie Vance of anything. If these are the chocolates that she and Uncle Vince gave you, someone stole the box from your apartment and added poison to the chocolates. I think that's why Mr. and Mrs. Buss got sick.”

Gertrude's wrinkled face was bewildered. “Who'd be dumb enough to ruin Granny Goodness chocolates? That takes a lot of gall. Granny Goodness makes the best ever.”

Judith ignored her mother's dismissal of attempted murder. She realized that Gertrude, like many elderly people, lived in a constantly shrinking world as age and infirmity robbed her of mobility and control over even life's minor events. “I'll buy you
a box of Granny Goodness the next time I go by their store at the bottom of the hill,” Judith said. “Don't even think of accusing Auntie Vance of anything.”

“Poisoning people doesn't sound like Vance,” Gertrude muttered. “She'd just bash somebody in the head if they got her riled up.”

Judith put the chocolate box in a drawer under the counter. “You haven't found your ring,” she said matter-of-factly. “Whoever stole the ring probably took the candy. Unless there's something you're not telling me, Vivian or Terri swiped both.”

“I told you, Vi wouldn't steal from me,” Gertrude replied, indignant.

“Then it was her daughter,” Judith said.

“She seemed okay,” Gertrude insisted. “Is she really a stripper?”

“She was at one time, according to Caitlin.” Judith buttered bread for Gertrude's sandwich. “Did she use the bathroom?”

“I don't remember,” Gertrude said.

“If she did,” Judith pointed out, “she could've gone into your bedroom and taken both the ring and the candy.”

“Sounds goofy to me. Why? She didn't know what was in there.”

“True.” Pausing while she added a bit of mustard to the ham and cheese, Judith tried to figure out why Terri had cased Gertrude's bedroom. “The only thing I can think of is that she was looking for something valuable to steal. Vivian may be rich, but that doesn't mean she's handing out hundred-dollar bills to her daughter. I understand that Terri was always a daddy's girl. Johnny Agra actually raised her.”

“Johnny Agra?” Gertrude looked curious. “Wasn't he Al's chum?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “They were both in the same business.”

“Monkey business,” Gertrude remarked. “Your father and I
never approved of what Al was doing in the back of the restaurant. It's a wonder he didn't end up in the bay wearing cement shoes.”

“Uncle Al knew whose palms to grease,” Judith pointed out. “Or so I figured when I got older.”

“Oh, you bet he did,” Gertrude agreed. “Especially whoever was sheriff at the time. Al would get dressed up like a cowboy and ride a horse in parades as part of the posse. At least one of those sheriffs went to jail.” The old lady sighed. “Oh, well. Al's a decent sort, always fun. I never met Johnny. Just as well. He left town and went to Hollywood and married that movie actress. I can imagine how that turned—”

“What?” Judith dropped one of the cherries she'd been putting on her mother's plate. “Who told you that?”

Gertrude frowned. “Vi? I think she mentioned it way back when I told her I'd sold my life story to the movies. What a bunch of guff
that
was after those Hollywood nitwits got done with it! I should've sued.”

“You were well paid,” Judith reminded her mother, but didn't want to get sidetracked discussing how little of the film paralleled Gertrude's life. “So Johnny married an actress? Are you sure?”

“I only know what Vi told me.”

“Do you remember her name?”

Gertrude shook her head. “I don't know if I ever heard it. If I did, she wasn't anybody famous, like Joan Crawford or Greta Garbo.”

“So Vivian told you this about…” Judith calculated Herself's comings and goings in her head. “At least three or four years ago?”

“More than that,” Gertrude said. “It was around the time she bought the Goodrich house. Christmas, maybe.”

Vivian had flown in from her Florida condo that year, drop
ping her bombshell during the family Christmas gathering. The announcement of her imminent and apparently permanent return hadn't quite ruined the spirit of the season, but it had definitely dropped some big rocks in Judith's usually deep well of charity.

“Goodness,” Judith murmured, “that was almost ten years ago. Had Johnny just moved to California?”

Gertrude shook her head. “No. I think he'd been there a long time. Funny,” she went on, fingering her chin, “I can't remember some particular things very well, but I can bring back how people acted when they were talking. The way Vi said it sounded as if she'd lost track of him and didn't care. If you know what I mean.”

Judith smiled and nodded. “I do. It would be typical.” She put some potato chips on Gertrude's plate. “Do you want to eat in here?”

“Why not?” Gertrude grimaced. “It's a change of pace. Just keep that religious goofball away from me.”

Judith moved one of the chairs away from the table so that Gertrude could maneuver closer. “Want to play detective?” she asked, sitting down across from her mother.

The old lady looked suspicious. “What do you mean?”

“This murder,” Judith said. “You could help both Vivian and me.”

“How?” Gertrude asked, still wary.

“Well…” Judith searched for the right words to goad her mother into action. “Find out that actress's name.”

Gertrude swallowed a bite of sandwich before responding. “Why?”

“I thought you liked Vivian,” Judith said, feigning puzzlement. “You met her daughter. That is, her other daughter, Terri, who's also Johnny Agra's daughter. Not Caitlin. You like Caitlin, don't you?”

Gertrude bristled. “She hasn't come to see me.”

“She hasn't had time, but she really wants to see you.” A small fib wasn't amiss, Judith thought. “Caitlin's busy helping Vivian. Terri did pay you a call. That was very sweet of her. Wouldn't you like to know what happened to her father after he married the actress? Was she a kind stepmother? You've heard those horror stories about Hollywood mothers and stepmothers.” Sadly, Judith shook her head. “Gruesome.”

“That's so.” Gertrude gazed off into space. “Vi should've stepped in,” she finally said. “Mothers and daughters have to stick together. Though one time she told me boys were easier to raise than girls. I wouldn't know. Not,” she added with a baleful glance at Judith, “that you were any picnic. Maybe Vi's right. She treats her boys pretty good. They were a big help being waiters at the party. Caitlin didn't show up for it, and poor Terri got stuck in the basement.”

“Yes. Poor Terri.” Judith feigned sympathy. “That's why you should help her. I suspect her life hasn't been happy.”

“So what should I do?” Gertrude inquired.

“Ask Vivian to come see you,” Judith said. “Tell her you want to…show her something.”

Gertrude spat out a cherry pit. “Like what? My almost-empty candy box?”

Judith was scraping her brain for a reason that would pique Herself's interest. “Give her a copy of the DVD version of your movie.”

Gertrude snorted. “
My
movie? That wasn't me. When did I ever take off all my clothes and do the Black Bottom on a tugboat?”

“For once and for all, we know
Dirty Gerty
wasn't about your real life,” Judith explained reasonably, “but it's the kind of…” She paused, avoiding the word
raunchy
. “It's the kind of mischievous movie Vivian would enjoy. You know, a spunky heroine
who's willing to take risks, even if they seem a bit…outlandish.” She handed her mother the phone. “Tell Vivian you have something for her. A titillating surprise.”

“Titillating? Don't use that kind of language,” Gertrude admonished. “What's wrong with ‘bosom'?”

“That's not what…Skip it.” She took the phone from Gertrude and dialed Herself's number. “Just say it's naughty but nice.”