Vi Agra Falls (5 page)

She lurched forward and kissed him soundly on the lips. “You deserve it, doll face! Drink it up at your party today!”

“Today?” Judith said, puzzled.

“I meant to bring it yesterday,” Vivian explained, leaning against Joe, “but I didn't have time. So I woke up early this morning, and here I am. I know, I'm usually one for sleeping in. I can't believe it's not even ten o'clock!”

“Ah…,” Joe began, gently trying to move away from Herself. “It's ten o'clock at
night
.”

Vivian looked startled. “It is? Hunh.” She stumbled a bit as she turned to look outside. “No wonder it's so dark. I just thought it was one of those typical gloomy days in this part of the world.”

“Be careful going home,” Judith said, starting to close the door.

“Home.” Herself looked blank. “Oh, yes,
home
.” She giggled. “Show me the way to go…” Singing softly, she managed to go down the stairs and turn in the direction of the driveway.

“Good Lord,” Judith murmured, locking the door. “I hope she's relatively sober for her party tomorrow night.”

Joe was admiring the magnum of champagne. “I'll bet this bottle of bubbly cost at least five bills.”

“Are you impressed?” Judith's tone was caustic.

“What?” Joe looked up from reading the label. “Well…it
was
thoughtful.”

“I suppose,” Judith mumbled. She went back into the kitchen to empty the dishwasher.

“I gather,” Joe said wryly as he set the magnum on the counter, “you don't want to pop the top and have a toast?”

“The only thing I'd like to toast right now is Herself,” Judith retorted. “It's been a long day. I'm tired. I'm too pooped to pop. Anything,” she added, darting her husband a pointed glance.

“You're being petty,” Joe said, forced to raise his voice over the clatter of plates that his wife was stacking in the cupboard. “You don't have anything to be jealous about.”

Face frozen, Judith clamped her mouth shut. Joe regarded her with reproachful eyes. “Okay,” she finally admitted, “that's probably true. But I still don't like having Vivian around here all the time. I always sense trouble in the making.”

“Come on, get real,” Joe said, exasperated. “I keep trying to tell you, stop fussing. Don't look for trouble.”

Judith grimaced. “I'll try not to.”

Joe's expression softened. “Try harder,” he said, putting an arm around her waist.

Looking into those magic green eyes, Judith managed a small smile. “Okay. I will. I'll think of positive things, like”—her smile grew wider—“you.”

But as they went upstairs to the third floor family quarters, Judith could have sworn she heard footsteps. Not real, not audible, not visible, but something tangible, as if trouble lurked in the shadows.

S
hould I get all gussied up?” Gertrude asked Judith late Monday afternoon. “Where's my good dress? Did you find my rouge?”

“Your good dress,” Judith said patiently, “is wool. It's ninety-three degrees outside. Why don't you wear that new housecoat Renie and Bill gave you for Christmas last year? You've never taken it out of the box.”

Gertrude scowled. “I was saving it for something special—like my funeral. But I'll bet Vivian's going to put on a real good party. The housecoat's in the bottom drawer of my bureau.”

Dutifully, Judith went into the small bedroom next to the small living room and the even smaller kitchenette. The gift box wasn't in the bottom drawer—or anywhere in the bureau. She finally found it under the bed. Collecting rouge, lipstick, and a pair of blue rhinestone earrings that would go well with the blue, green, and yellow floral housecoat, she asked her mother if she needed help getting dressed.

“I can still do that myself, you nitwit,” Gertrude rasped. “It might take me an hour or so, but I can manage just fine. You look like you better spend a while getting yourself together.
Where'd you find that ugly sundress? It looks like it fell off the back of a garbage truck.”

Judith had bought the simple red-and-white cotton sheath at Nordquist's on sale, a relative bargain at ninety dollars. Ignoring her mother's barb, she told her to be ready by six-thirty, smiled thinly, and left the toolshed.

The schoolhouse clock's hands stood at five-thirty. The appetizers were ready for the B&B's social hour, but one party of guests had yet to arrive. Ironically, it was the Oklahoma Busses. Judith wondered if they'd stopped first at Herself's house.

Forty-five minutes later, she was checking on the three-bean salad she'd made for the Block Watch potluck when the doorbell rang. A tall, lean, gray-haired man and a short, plump dumpling of a woman with six pieces of luggage awaited her welcome.

“We're the Busses,” the woman announced in a soft, slightly southern voice somewhere between a drawl and a twang.

Judith introduced herself and ushered the couple inside. “Welcome to Hillside Manor. You're in Room Five. You share a bathroom with Room Six, though there is another bathroom you can use off the hallway between your room and Room Four. The social hour has already begun, but I'm sure you want to get settled. Here's the registration….” She paused, realizing that the Busses had left their luggage on the porch. “Uh…wouldn't you like to bring your suitcases inside?”

Marva Lou Buss frowned. “Is there a lot of crime around here?”

“No,” Judith replied, unwilling to admit to the occasional corpse she found in or around the premises. “This neighborhood is very quiet.” A sharp noise not unlike a gunshot suddenly rang out. “Usually,” she added, going to the open front door. Billy Buss was standing on the curb in front of his house, holding aloft what looked like a six-shooter.

“Ya-
ha
!” he shouted. “It's party time!”

“Sounds like Billy,” Frankie Buss murmured to Marva Lou. “We'd best hightail it over there to howdy-do him.” He loped out of the house.

“Frankie's all het up to have a sit-down with Billy,” Marva Lou said to Judith. “I'll leave the bags on the porch till he gets back.”

Judith was still looking outside. The sawhorses were in place at the entrance to the cul-de-sac, the Rankers had set up their trestle table and folding chairs, Jeanne Ericson was unloading paper plates and plastic tableware from a big carton, Naomi Stein carefully placed slices of corned beef and pastrami on a platter, Rochelle Porter was putting the final touches to a lazy Susan loaded with fresh fruits and vegetables that her husband, Gabe, had brought from his produce company, and Hamish Stein was helping Ted Ericson set up the beverages. Just a few yards away, on the other side of the open area, Judith saw Vivian in a slithery silver gown with a slit skirt. She was supervising two white-coated waiters and three nubile young women in abbreviated maids' costumes. Billy and Frankie Buss stood off to one side, where a small bandstand had been set up. Judith felt as if she were watching a war zone with the enemies preparing for battle.

“What the hell was that?” Joe shouted, coming through the dining room into the entry hall. He saw Marva Lou and stopped short. “Oh! Sorry.” He gave an imitation of his most engaging grin to the newly arrived guest. “That sounded like a shot, but of course it must have been…?” He transferred his questioning gaze to Judith.

“Billy Buss,” Judith said, speaking rapidly lest Joe interrupt with a tactless remark in front of Billy's sister-in-law as well as a couple from Iowa who'd left the social gathering in the living room, apparently to ask about the loud noise. “This is Billy's brother's wife, Marva Lou. They just arrived.” Judith smiled at
the curious Iowans under the archway between the living room and the entrance hall. “The neighbors are celebrating their recent move from Florida. No need for alarm.”

Marva Lou waved a plump hand. “Oh, pay no notice to Billy. He likes to think he's a cowboy. You got to see him do tricks with his lasso.”

The Iowa guests returned to the living room. Joe, however, went out into the cul-de-sac. Judith had a feeling he was going to speak to Billy about discharging firearms in an urban setting.

Judith turned her attention back to the registration form. “Fill this out, and I'll give you your keys,” she said to Marva Lou. “One is to your room, the other is to the front door. We lock up at ten every night. When my husband gets back, I'll have him move your luggage upstairs.”

“That's real nice of him,” Marva Lou said, scribbling down the required guest information. “I sure hope you enjoy having Billy around. Isn't he a hoot?”

“I haven't met him,” Judith said, watching Marva Lou sign the registration with a flourish. “He and…his wife are gone quite a lot.”

Marva Lou nodded, as Judith handed her the keys. “Sounds right to me. Billy never was one to stay put. Restless, that's Billy. Frankie's just the opposite. Hard to get him out of the house. Funny how kids in the same family turn out so different. The roving kind, the stay-at-homes, and the in-betweens. My own sister's another gadabout. A good thing she went to work for Amtrak. After fifteen years, you'd figure she'd have her fill of traveling, but she still loves it.” Marva Lou paused, frowning. “We wouldn't have made this trip if it wasn't for…” She paused again. “Well, let's say family matters. I suppose I ought to go freshen up. Or at least comb my hair.” She patted her short, honey-colored curls. “I'll bet the party's already started.”

“Both parties,” Judith said, glancing at her watch. It was twenty minutes to seven. “Our Block Watch is having its annual get-together. It's a citywide event.”

Marva Lou nodded. “We have those in Oklahoma. A good idea.” She clasped the B&B keys in her hand. “I'll go up to the room now. See you at the party. Or parties.”

As Marva Lou disappeared up the stairs, Joe returned. “My first meeting with Billy Buss was a bust. He didn't appreciate my words of wisdom about shooting off a gun on Heraldsgate Hill.”

“I assume he didn't do that in Florida,” Judith remarked. “Maybe it would be different in the wide-open spaces of Oklahoma.” She started down the entry hall. “I'm going to take Mother to the Block Watch party. She's probably chomping at the bit. I'm almost fifteen minutes late.”

“Skip it,” Joe called after her. “She's already there.”

Judith turned around. “She is?”

“Vivian came to escort her,” Joe said wryly. “Your mother's at the Buss party.”

Judith sighed. “Oh, well. I suppose that's okay. It's awkward, though. I refuse to abandon our neighbors. I'll stay on the potluck side of the cul-de-sac.” Seeing a faintly sheepish expression on Joe's face, she took a couple of steps toward him. “Well? What about you?”

Joe grimaced. “I thought I'd do both.”

Judith glared at him. “Have fun. You and Mother make a cute couple.” She continued on through the dining room to the kitchen.

Joe didn't follow her. Five minutes later, carrying her big glass bowl of three-bean salad through the front door, she spotted him on Vivian's side of the cul-de-sac, talking to one of the two men who appeared to be waiters. At least two dozen people Judith didn't recognize were gathered around Herself's lavish buffet and equally opulent bar.

“I've never seen so many bags of ice in my life,” Arlene remarked as Judith set the salad bowl on the trestle table. “It's going to melt all over the place. How much are they going to drink? And who are they?”

“Hangers-on,” Judith replied bitterly. “Probably some of the barflies Vivian knew in the old days. I'd have assumed most of them had been permanently pickled by now.”

“They're certainly not from around here,” Arlene huffed. “Except,” she added, lowering her voice, “for your husband.”

“Don't rub it in,” Judith shot back. “He probably knows some of those creeps from the cop bars. That's how he met Vivian. She was the lounge singer in a seedy dive downtown.”

Arlene looked sympathetic. “A moment's madness,” she murmured. “And years of sorrow.” She paused as Joe slapped one of the waiters on the back and broke into an uncharacteristically boisterous laugh. “Or maybe not,” Arlene said under her breath.

Judith turned her back on Herself's gathering. “Remind me to kill Joe when he gets over here.”

Arlene brightened. “Would you like help? I can practice on Carl.”

Judith shuddered. “I shouldn't have said that. About killing Joe. Just saying that out loud scares me.”

“Yes,” Arlene said, putting a hand on Judith's arm. “You do seem to attract dead people. That is, people who—”

She was interrupted by the sudden sound of a snare drum. A half-dozen musicians had set up on the bandstand across the cul-de-sac. Ragtime music blared from speakers, almost deafening Judith. “Oh, no!” she cried, putting her fingers in her ears. “This is awful!”

“Worse than that,” Arlene shouted. “Here come some of your B&B guests.”

The couple who had been startled by the gunshot and two
young women from Boston stood on Hillside Manor's front steps, staring in surprise at the commotion. The lean and lanky Iowa husband spotted Judith and marched in her direction.

“Is this your evening entertainment?” he demanded, his florid face almost purple. “You didn't mention that in your brochure.”

“It has nothing to do with me,” Judith declared. “I'm angry, too.”

The man from Iowa jerked a thumb in the direction of Herself's gathering. “Then why is the man I thought was your husband dancing with that blond hussy in the silver dress?”

Judith stared. Sure enough, Joe and Vivian were doing a foxtrot to the music. Several others had joined in. Gertrude sat in her motorized wheelchair, tapping her foot in time to the beat.

“I apologize,” Judith finally said, shoulders slumping. “Let me treat you and your wife to dinner. I have some gift certificates inside.”

She hurried back into the house, the man and his wife—as well as the two Bostonians—following. She unlocked the drawer of the small desk in the entry hall and removed a hundred-dollar gift certificate for the Manhattan Grill Steak House. Aware that the two young women were about to pounce, she took out a second gift card, this one for Ugeto's, an upscale Italian restaurant. The foursome grudgingly thanked her and withdrew to the living room just as the two older couples traveling together from Bakersfield, California, came down the stairs.

“Here,” she said, grabbing the only remaining pair of certificates, which were for Papaya Pete's expensive Polynesian eatery in one of the city's big hotels. “Enjoy.”

Judith retreated into the kitchen, where the music was muted. Her nerves were frazzled. Impulsively, she took a bottle of Glenlivet from the top kitchen shelf and poured a generous
inch into a glass. Adding ice, she sipped deeply, savoring the liquor's golden glow. The whisky was from the Scottish Highlands, brought back by Judith and Joe when they returned in March from their stay at a castle on the North Sea.

She was swirling the drink in her hands when the last of her guests—newlyweds from Anchorage—poked their heads in the kitchen.

“Hey,” said the red-haired bride whose first name Judith recalled as Ashley, “what's going on outside?”

Judith kept both hands on the cocktail glass, preferring not to let her guests think she stood around the kitchen getting snockered. “The neighbors are having a Block Watch potluck,” she explained. “But some people who recently moved here are giving their own party as well. I'm sorry about the noise. Look,” she went on, hoping to forestall another complaint, “I keep restaurant gift certificates on hand for certain kinds of emergencies, such as visitors who lose their travelers' checks or credit cards. I've run out, but if you want to enjoy a pleasant, quiet dinner, go ahead and I'll credit your bill here for the cost of your evening out.”

Ashley looked at her fair-haired groom. “Dare we?” she said.

“It's not a dare,” Judith began. “I'm perfectly willing to—”

“No, no,” the young man broke in. “We were wondering if we could join that party with the band. They sound like they're having fun.”

“Be my guest,” Judith responded. “I mean…well, you already are. But I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Buss won't mind one bit.”

Ashley clapped. “Let's go, Jake! A live band! Way cool!”

The couple hurried off through the dining room. Judith finished her drink and reluctantly went back outside.

At least a dozen Dooleys had arrived. The matriarch,
Corinne, was setting out homemade pies. Judith was about to commend her for baking in such warm weather, but Rochelle Porter intervened, shouting to make herself heard above the band's rendition of “Caramba, It's the Samba!”