Vi Agra Falls (4 page)

Judith got up and moved to the doorway, taking in her cousin's incredulous expression from across the island counter. Pointing to the receiver, Renie mouthed a one-syllable word. Judith couldn't figure out what it was.

“Okay, Joe,” Renie said, emphasizing his name for Judith's benefit. “She's right here. I'll tell her.” Clicking the phone off, she leaned her elbow on the counter and gazed in bewilderment at Judith. “Arlene told Joe who bought the Swanson house.” Renie paused, either for dramatic effect or because she was stupefied. “The new owner is Herself.”

Judith groaned. “That's crazy!”

Renie, however, shook her head. “Apparently, Herself and Billy Bob Buford Bud—or whatever his name is—want to do a big remodel and need more space. I suppose Mrs. Swanson's house is a teardown. Let's face it, people are doing that all the time around here, with even million-dollar homes falling under the wrecking ball for some new mega-mansion.”

“I know.” Judith sighed. “I suddenly have visions of a Mediterranean villa complete with palm trees and pink flamingos in the cul-de-sac. All flash and dash. Herself has no taste.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Renie said with a little smirk as the cousins went back out to the deck. “She married Joe, didn't she?”

Judith ignored the remark. “Even if they build something decent,” she said after taking a sip of lemonade, “think of all the construction. That's going to turn everything upside-down at the B&B. Guests don't come to Hillside Manor to be awakened at seven in the morning by heavy trucks and concrete mixers. And don't start me on parking places or peaceful neighborhood
strolls, or the wretched eyesore that will be right outside our front door. Damn!” She banged her fist hard on the patio chair's arm. “I knew Herself would bring nothing but trouble!”

“You may be exaggerating,” Renie said, trying to sound reasonable. “Both Herself and Mrs. Swanson's houses are small, and so are their yards. They look as if they were constructed by the same builder. Is my memory failing even more than I thought, or wasn't there a third house just like the other two?”

“You mean next to Herself's place, where the Ericsons live?” Judith nodded. “Yes. They tore that one down about the same time I moved back home after Dan died. But Ted Ericson is an architect, and although their home is more modern, he was able to hurry along the builders and the rest of the workmen. Our house and the Rankerses' are the two oldest ones in the cul-de-sac. They were put up about the same time, almost a hundred years ago. As I recall, the homes where the Porters and the Steins live were built in the mid-twenties, or even a little later. But none of our houses seem out of place, at least now that I've gotten used to the Ericsons' sharp angles and so much glass. They've fenced in their front yard, and all their plantings have matured to soften the appearance.”

“Yes,” Renie agreed. “The exterior has weathered well, too.”

The cousins sat in silence for a couple of minutes, watching a hummingbird zip from the camellia bush to the cedar tree and taking in the view to the east, where the mountains were silhouetted against the bright blue sky. The Joneses' lot was a block wide, with their garage on the street that ran past the back of the house.

“Someday,” Renie said ruefully, “this house will be a teardown, too. The double lot is probably worth more than the house. Worse yet, I assume this block is zoned for condos, since we've already got them across the street out front.”

“But they're rather modest in size,” Judith pointed out. “I'll bet Herself will put in a swimming pool.”

“And fill it with gin?” Renie grimaced. “Don't look for trouble, Coz.”

“I try not to,” Judith said in woeful tone, “but I have a feeling it's coming my way.”

Renie didn't argue.

 

W
hen Judith got home later that afternoon, she went over to see Arlene and Carl. They were in the backyard, sitting under an old pear tree and watching their Boston terrier, Tulip, chase a tennis ball.

“Well?” Judith said. “Do you know anything more than what Joe passed on to me?”

Arlene shook her head. “I went to see Mrs. Swanson after Cathy called me about the house sale. Unfortunately, Mrs. Swanson was on her way to her daughter's to make plans about the move. Then I tried to call on Vivian. We'd gotten a letter for someone at that address. A substitute carrier left it in our mailbox.” She frowned. “Is that Spanish girl's last name Agra?”

“She's not Spanish,” Judith replied, “she's Hispanic, and her last name is Vasquez. Nobody named Agra ever lived at that address.”

Arlene shrugged. “With the post office, who knows? Anyway, this girl who
looks
like she
might
be
Spanish
told me that her employers had gone to an appointment about the sale. I don't understand what all the rush is about. It's a Sunday, after all.”

Carl took the tennis ball from Tulip and threw it in the direction of the hedge. “If they're going to remodel, they probably want to start while the weather's still good.”

“I suppose,” Judith said. “No matter when they start working,
it'll have an impact on Hillside Manor. I wouldn't feel right about taking reservations without telling potential guests that there's major construction going on just two doors away. I'm already getting requests for the Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday seasons.”

Tulip came tearing out from under the hedge. Sweetums was in pursuit, his big plume of a tail waving like a battle banner. The dog leaped into Carl's lap. The cat stopped just short of where Judith was standing.

“Knock it off,” she shouted at Sweetums. “Sorry,” she murmured to Carl and Arlene. “You know what this wretched cat is like. He has no manners.”

“We're used to him,” Carl said dryly. “Like my lovely wife,” he added with a twinkle in his blue eyes, “he doesn't show his age.”

“No,” Judith agreed as Sweetums engaged in a stare-down with Tulip. “He's certainly old enough.” She sighed. “I'd better take him home. Let me know as soon as you find out anything more about what's going on with Vivian and Company.”

Arlene nodded vaguely, distracted by the cowering Tulip. “You know I will. Find out. And let you know.”

But July turned into August before there was news from Arlene or anyone else. And when the new development occurred, it came via Judith's computer.

“I got a reservation request just now from someone named Marva Lou Buss in Broken Bow, Oklahoma,” she informed Joe as he returned late Wednesday afternoon from reporting to one of his corporate clients. “That can't be a coincidence, can it?”

Joe grimaced. “Probably not. When does Marva Lou Buss plan to come to town?”

“Next Monday, with an open-ended departure,” Judith said, pointing at the computer screen. “Two people. I can fit them in
until Friday. We're already full for the weekends in August and the first two weeks of September. What do you think?”

Joe loosened the royal blue tie he'd worn to his meeting. “About what?”

“About whether or not this Marva Lou is married to Frankie, Billy Buss's brother,” Judith explained. “Remember, I told you that Vivian inherited all of Potsy Buss's money. Billy and Frankie were left out of the will.”

Joe unbuttoned his pale blue short-sleeved shirt. “So? What does that have to do with them paying a visit? The B&B would be a logical place for them to stay.”

Judith frowned. “I don't like it. It makes me nervous.”

“It shouldn't,” Joe said, taking a can of beer out of the fridge. “Do you want me to ask Vivian about Marva Lou?”

Judith turned pleading dark eyes on her husband. “Would you?”

“Sure,” he replied. “I'll do it after dinner. Right now I'm going to drink this beer, take a shower, and change. It must be close to ninety outside. Did you ever get a quote on air-conditioning this place?”

Judith looked rueful. “No. I meant to, but I keep hoping it'll cool off. It seems like such a big expense for our usually short bouts of hot weather. The fans you installed in all the bedroom windows help.”

Help, however, was not coming from Herself. Joe went to see his ex a little after seven but returned almost immediately. “Adelita Vasquez told me that Mr. and Mrs. Buss have gone on an evening cruise to try out Mr. B's new yacht. I wonder if it's bigger than the
QE2.
” He cocked his head, listening for any guest activity following the six o'clock social hour. All was quiet. “What are you going to do about the Buss reservation?”

Judith pondered her options. “I don't like turning away
guests, no matter who they are. You're right—it's a perfectly logical request.”

“And
you
are always perfectly logical,” Joe said, kissing his wife's cheek.

“I'll warn them that they can't stay past Thursday night,” Judith said, as much to herself as to Joe. “I'll do it now.”

An hour later when Judith checked her email, Marva Lou Buss had responded: “Confirm Monday, Aug. 9 through Thursday, Aug. 12. Please advise convenient location for weekend of Friday the 13th.”

“Friday the thirteenth,” Judith murmured. “I don't like that, either.”

J
udith was sweeping up dead leaves from under the camellia bush at the corner of the house early Wednesday afternoon and praying for rain when Herself, wearing a glittering gold lamé kimono, came outside to get the mail. Setting her broom aside, Judith hurried across the cul-de-sac.

“Joe and I have been trying to talk to you,” she said, making an effort to put on her friendliest smile. “We heard you bought Mrs. Swanson's house. Are you expanding?”

Herself uttered a throaty laugh. “Expanding? How quaint!”

“Well…” Judith paused, mesmerized by the sun glinting off of all that gold lamé and platinum curls. “I assume that with adjoining properties, you might want to add on to your original house.”

Clutching a thick batch of mail to her bosom, Vivian regarded Judith with amusement. “That would be the case with some people. But Billy and I have other plans.” She winked. “Check your own mail, Judith. You'll find an invitation to our coming-out party next week. All of the neighbors in the cul-de-sac are invited. It'll be
very
exciting.” With a flip of gold folds, Herself went back inside.

“I don't like this,” Judith declared to Joe after he got home around five, and she showed him the gold-edged invitation.

Joe looked bemused. “There's a lot of things you don't seem to like these days. This seems like a perfectly ordinary neighborhood bash to me. Six-thirty Monday evening, which happens to coincide with the annual citywide Block Watch get-togethers. Have you talked to Carl and Arlene? They usually host it, since he's our neighborhood captain.”

“They're still on the other side of the mountains at that time-share their daughter, Cathy, owns,” Judith replied, sounding cross. “If it's hot here, it must be a hundred degrees on the lake over there. For all I know, they've melted. Besides, Carl dropped the flyers off last week. I've already notified the guests who'll be staying here that night about how the city puts out sawhorses to partially block off the areas where the potlucks are being held.”

Joe waved the Busses' invitation at Judith. “This isn't a potluck. It says food and beverages provided.”

“Herself had better clear this with Arlene and Carl,” Judith snapped. “We've been doing the Block Watch thing for years.”

“Maybe it's a party to welcome Billy's brother and his wife,” Joe said, putting the invitation on the kitchen counter.

Judith clapped a hand to her cheek. “Oh! I forgot that's when the other Busses get here!”

A woman's voice called out from the back porch. “Judith? Joe?”

Judith glanced down the hall that led from the kitchen. Naomi Stein was standing at the screen door.

“Come in,” Judith called to her neighbor. “I see you're back from California.”

“Last night,” Naomi said, a worried expression on her usually serene face and Vivian's invitation in her hand. “What's
going on around here? Did Mrs. Swanson move out while we were gone?”

Judith nodded. “Over the weekend. I guess she had to be out of the house by August first.”

“I hate to see her go,” Naomi said with feeling. “Mrs. Swanson was like an anchor in this neighborhood, always the calm in the eye of any storm. I'll certainly miss seeing her working in the garden across the cul-de-sac.”

“I know,” Judith agreed. “I see you got the Busses' invitation.”

“Yes.” Naomi looked at Joe. “I realize that you were married to her, but I'll be blunt. Hamish and I are concerned about what she and that muscle-bound husband of hers are up to.” She waved the invitation. “Is there going to be some kind of dreadful announcement that comes along with the free food and drink?”

“It's possible,” Joe admitted in his mellow voice. “Judith figures they're going to add on to their own house.”

Naomi frowned. “That could be a nuisance, especially for your B&B. I wonder if they'll move out while the construction is under way.”

“That'd be the only good part,” Judith murmured.

“True,” Naomi agreed. “I'm not crazy about the kind of people that show up there at all hours, either.”

Judith stared at Naomi. “Such as…who? When?”

“Ham was up late last night unpacking and getting organized for work today,” Naomi explained. “About one in the morning, a car pulled up in front of the Buss house. Nobody got out right away, and the house was dark. Ham wondered if someone was…you know, casing the joint, as they say. Finally a man got out and walked all around the house. The lights never went on as far as Ham could see, and after a few minutes the man came back and drove away. It seemed odd. Ham thought about calling
the police, but he decided against it. He didn't get a good look at the car or the driver, let alone the license plates.”

“Could Ham describe the man?” Judith asked.

Naomi frowned. “Not really. Medium height, probably older, ordinary clothes, some kind of cap. Ham said it was a sedan, dark color, probably. I hate to say it, but that house has been bad luck for years.”

Joe held up his hands. “Hold it. No offense, Naomi, but you and Rochelle and Arlene and,” he added, glancing at Judith, “my wife are all looking for trouble where there may not be any. Is this some kind of guilt trip on me for having made a big mistake thirty-odd years ago in marrying the wrong woman?”

Naomi looked embarrassed. Judith, however, was annoyed. “You don't need to defend yourself, Joe,” she declared. “Or to defend Herself.”

Naomi bit her lip. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble.” She looked away from both Flynns. “Jeanne Ericson feels the same way.”

“Women,” Joe muttered. “I'm going upstairs to change.”

As he went through the hall to the back stairs, Naomi heaved a heavy sigh. “I had no intention of upsetting your husband, Judith.”

“I know,” Judith responded kindly. “But Joe
does
feel guilty. He somehow feels responsible for Vivian. Or Vi, as she wants to be called these days. Don't you remember when he got her to join AA, but she flunked out? He even went to meetings with her.”

“Yes, I do.” Naomi put a hand on Judith's arm. “I'd better go before I make an utter fool of myself. It might turn out to be a lovely neighborhood party. I hope,” she added softly, “it's kosher.”

“I do, too,” Judith agreed. “In every way.”

 

A
re you nuts?” Renie demanded a couple of days later when she stopped at the B&B to drop off a couple of hard-boiled detective novels Bill was passing on to Joe. “Why would we come to your neighborhood get-together Monday? We have our own. I'm bringing fried chickens.”

“
Chickens?
How many?” Judith asked, wiping perspiration off of her forehead.

“Three,” Renie replied. “Everybody laps up those fryers since I finally learned how to cook them right after forty years of marriage. How come Carl and Arlene Rankers aren't doing their usual thing?”

“They are,” Judith replied, sitting down at the kitchen table, across from Renie. “They'd already made arrangements with the city to hold their annual Block Watch party. So we'll end up with two shindigs going on at the same time in the cul-de-sac. Arlene asked Herself to change their event, but she refused. It should be quite a mob, since all the Dooleys will be coming, too.”

“How many at this point?” Renie inquired, referring to the large family that lived in back of the Flynn and Ericson properties.

“I've lost track,” Judith admitted. “With so many children and grandchildren and various others relatives in and out, I just know a Dooley when I see one. They all kind of look alike.”

“Nice people, though,” Renie remarked, lifting the lid on Judith's sheep-shaped cookie jar. “Hey, Coz, this thing's empty!”

“I don't bake in this heat,” Judith said. “I won't turn on the oven.”

Renie looked forlorn. “Store-bought is fine with me.”

“None here.” Judith slumped in the chair. “I hate summer.”

“Me, too,” Renie agreed. “Worst season of the year. Bring on the rain.” She sipped from the Pepsi Judith had given her. “I'm going to dread seeing our water bill. I can't
not
try to keep all
of our flowers and shrubs and trees from dying of thirst. In the long run, it'd cost more money to—” She stopped and reached into her enormous purse, which was on the vacant chair next to her. “I almost forgot. Your mailman must be suffering from heat exhaustion with all our steep hills. He dropped these in your driveway.” She handed over the latest issues of
Country Life, National Geographic,
and
Architectural Digest,
along with a couple of ads, the cable bill, and two letters.

Judith scanned the stack of mail. “
Architectural Digest
belongs to Ted Ericson. We've had a sub on the route the past week or so. Cecil's on vacation.” She tossed the ads aside and looked at the first letter. “It's a thank-you, I think, from that nice South Dakota couple who stayed here last month. I'll read it later.” The other letter brought a scowl to her face. “This is addressed to J. C. Agra at Herself's address. Damn. I suppose I'll have to take it over there.”

“Her last name isn't Agra,” Renie pointed out.

Judith shrugged. “I know, but the letter's intended for that address. Maybe Billy has an alias.”

“That sounds right,” Renie said, and yawned. “This heat also makes me sleepy. I should finish up my errands before I nod off.” She stared at Judith. “What is it? You look weird.”

“That name—Agra. Somebody else in the cul-de-sac got a letter for a person by that name. It was also misdelivered.”

Renie took a last swig of Pepsi and stood up. “Who knows? Every so often we get a religious newsletter for a family who lived in our house fifty years ago. Last week I got something in the mail for my dad, and he's been dead for thirty years. They wanted to sell him life insurance. I almost signed up, figuring maybe I could cash in by waiting a couple of months and sending them his death certificate.”

“You'd actually do that,” Judith murmured.

“But I didn't,” Renie said, not without regret. “See you Sunday for Joe and Mike's birthdays.”

In previous years, Judith often hosted a small party for her husband and son, who shared the same birthday. Usually she invited some of Joe's former police coworkers, a few of Mike's current colleagues, and various family members and friends. But on this eighth day of August, Mike was turning forty. It didn't seem possible to Judith. Where had all the years gone? It seemed like only yesterday that she was pushing his stroller along the ill-maintained sidewalks by the McMonigles' seedy rental in the city's south end. Or kissing him good-bye before she headed for work at the local library. She'd been an often-absent mother, working two jobs, and forced to leave most of the routine parenting to the frequently unemployed Dan McMonigle. Judith had always acknowledged Dan as a decent father—despite the fact that he knew Mike wasn't his son. Ironic, of course, because Joe didn't know Judith had borne him a child until he showed up as the primary detective in a murder that had occurred at Hillside Manor. Even after Judith and Joe had finally married, it had taken her a long time to work up the courage to tell Mike. More irony there, Judith recalled. Her son had figured out his biological identity long before she revealed the truth.

Paternity issues aside, Mike was traumatized by the thought of turning forty. He'd get over it, his parents agreed, if only because he had no choice. When he'd told her he didn't want to make a big deal out of reaching the threshold of middle age, she was bemused as well as relieved. Joe had stepped in, pointing out that the relentlessly hot, dry weather was taking its toll on Judith, and suggested an intimate buffet supper with their son's family, Gertrude, and the Joneses. Neither Judith nor Mike protested. In addition to Mike's confrontation with growing
older and the debilitating heat wave, it was never easy for Judith to juggle private parties as well as full occupancy at the B&B.

“That was great,” Joe declared Sunday night after the last present had been unwrapped, the remains of the ice cream had been devoured by the two grandsons, the small chunk of leftover cake had been sent home with Mike and Kristin, and the attendees had gone. Caitlin's gift to her father was a handsome wool sweater made in Switzerland. Joe's brothers, who lived in far-flung places around the world, had chipped in to buy their sibling what appeared to be a complete DVD collection of John Wayne's movies, from Westerns to WWII and several in between. Judith and Joe had presented Mike with a check for two thousand dollars, to be spent on a getaway with Kristin to Hawaii.

“Thanks again for the sport coat,” Joe said to his wife. “It's a really nifty color of green.”

“I tried to match your eyes,” Judith said, smiling.

Joe leaned to kiss her, but was interrupted by a knock at the back door. “Who's that? Did some of our gang forget something?”

“I don't think so,” Judith said, glancing at the schoolhouse clock as Joe started down the hall to open the door. “It's not quite ten, so the front door is still unlocked for guests.”

“Happy birthday, baby!” Vivian shouted. “Here's a little something to celebrate with on your special day!”

Judith stayed put, but could see Herself handing over what looked like a big bottle wrapped in gold foil.

“Thanks, Vivian,” Joe said, not quite able to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Go ahead, unwrap it,” his ex urged, swaying slightly on the threshold. “Judith! Come see what I got for Joe!”

Reluctantly, Judith joined Joe and his former spouse in the narrow hallway. As he removed the gold foil, a magnum of
Dom Perignon 1998 was exposed. “Wow,” Joe said softly. “This is really nice of you…Vi.”