Vi Agra Falls (7 page)

Propping herself up in bed, she listened for any sound of a commotion. The two bedroom windows facing the Rankerses were open. The fans that Joe had put in whirred softly, muffling any but the loudest of noises coming from outside. She turned them off and peered through the window on Joe's side of the bed. Carl and Arlene's house was dark. After a moment or two, Judith heard voices. One of them belonged to Joe, though she couldn't make out what he was saying. The other belonged to a woman who sounded distraught.
Not Mother,
she thought, as anxiety replaced anger.
Not Arlene, either,
she decided, or the lights would be on at their house.

She turned on the bedside lamp, put on her lightweight summer robe, and slid her feet into a pair of sturdy slippers. Heading down the narrow stairway to the guest rooms, she noted that everything seemed quiet. When she reached the bottom of the back stairs, Judith noticed that the hallway and porch lights were on. The back door was wide open. Opening the screen door, she saw two figures on the sidewalk just off the porch.

Joe had his arms around Vivian. At first, Judith thought they were embracing, and her ire returned. Then, as she moved to the steps, she realized that Joe was holding on to Herself to keep her from falling. He turned slightly when he heard the screen door close behind Judith.

“Call nine-one-one,” he said, keeping his voice down. “Get some brandy. I think Vivian fainted.” With a grunt, Joe picked up his former wife and started for the porch steps.

Rattled, Judith stood aside as her husband and his burden squeezed through the narrow corridor. “Shall I ask for a medic?” she called after Joe.

“Yes,” he answered, using his elbow to open the swinging half-door between the kitchen and dining room. “Call the cops, too.”

Judith snatched up the phone from the counter and dialed 911. The answer was prompt. “We have a neighbor at our house,” she said, giving the address, “who's collapsed. She needs medical attention.”

As the emergency operator responded, Judith hurried to join Joe in the living room, where he was placing Vivian's limp body on one of the matching sofas. “Why,” Judith whispered, a hand over the phone's mouthpiece, “do we need the cops?”

“Because,” Joe said grimly, “Vivian's got a dead body in her backyard.”

J
udith was stunned. “No!” she cried. “I can't believe it!”

Pausing in his efforts to rally Vivian with gentle shakes, Joe scowled at his wife. “Just tell them to send the cops, and get the brandy.”

As Judith headed for the guest bar in the dining room, she spoke again into the phone. “We need the police as well. There's been…an accident. It's…” She swallowed hard before finishing the sentence. “…a fatal one, I believe.”

The female operator relayed the call, then spoke again to Judith. “Is this Mrs. Flynn at that B&B on Heraldsgate Hill?”

Judith still felt rattled. “Yes, Mrs. Flynn is unconscious in the living room. She found the body.”

“Of course she did,” the operator said dryly. “Who's calling?”

Judith suddenly realized the operator was confused. “Oh, my God! This is
Judith
Flynn. It's the
other
Mrs. Flynn who passed out. I mean, she's Mrs. Buss now, but I—”

“Forget it,” the operator interrupted. “Help is on the way.” She paused. “
Two
Mrs. Flynns? Man, the body count is really going to go up around here!” She abruptly rang off.

Resentment stiffened Judith's spine. She put the phone down
on the dining room table, got the brandy out of the antique washstand in the corner, and grabbed a small snifter. Before returning to the living room, she made sure the front porch light was turned on and opened the door. By the time she rejoined Joe, Vivian was starting to come around.

“Who's dead?” Judith asked, pouring brandy into the snifter.

“How the hell would I know?” Joe snapped. “Vivian!” He gave her a less gentle shake, dislodging one of her false eyelashes, which fluttered onto her red and green kimono. “Drink this,” he said, holding the snifter to his ex-wife's lipstick-smeared mouth. “Come on, be a good girl.”

“Ha!” Judith said under her breath.

Herself drained the brandy in one big gulp, choked, sputtered, and finally slumped back against the sofa. “Thanks,” she said in an overwrought voice. “I needed that.”

“You always do,” Judith muttered, ignoring Joe's reproachful glance. “I think I hear the first of the emergency vehicles arriving.”

Judith hadn't heard any such thing, but needed a few moments to collect her wits. By the time she reached the entry hall, however, headlights were coming into the cul-de-sac. Or trying to come in. For the first time, she saw the havoc that had been wreaked by the wild partygoers. The usually pristine area was littered with all sorts of debris, including an overturned table, broken bottles, dirty table linen, and a mangled saxophone. The lead vehicle, a medic van, had to slow down to maneuver its way through the mess. A fire engine followed for a few yards and stopped in front of the Steins' house on the corner. Apparently, there wasn't enough room to guide the big truck any farther.

Thankfully, Judith thought, the emergency crews hadn't had to use their sirens. The neighborhood was usually quiet at three
in the morning.
Usually
, Judith thought,
except for Joe's wives finding corpses
.

“Hi,” she said with a feeble smile for the lead EMT, known to Judith only as Medic Kinsella. “How've you been?”

“You mean since your last disaster?” The expression on Kinsella's long, horselike face was wry. “Where's this one?”

“The patient's in the living room,” Judith said wearily. “You know the way. The body's in the patient's backyard.”

“We can't do much about the dead ones,” Kinsella said.

“Neither can I,” Judith murmured, stepping back as the rest of the emergency crew followed Kinsella's lead. She recognized a couple of them who glanced in her direction as she stood next to the Duncan Phyfe desk by the stairs.

Judith knew it was best to keep out of the way while the medics treated Herself. She might as well wait for the police to show up. After a couple of minutes she wandered out onto the front porch. Her dark eyes traveled in the direction of the Buss house. Who, she wondered, was the corpse in their backyard? Billy? Frankie? Marva Lou? She assumed that the visiting Busses from Oklahoma were sound asleep in their room on the second floor. But maybe they weren't. Judith couldn't bear to think about another guest who had come to a violent end while staying at Hillside Manor.

At last, a patrol car drove slowly and carefully through the cul-de-sac. Would she know the officers on duty?

The two patrol officers who got out of the car were strangers. The tall, lean one was a woman; the short, stocky cop was a man. They both looked very young to Judith, probably fresh from the police academy. Their name tags identified them as Smith and Wesson. For a brief moment, Judith thought it must be a joke. But judging from their somber expressions, neither of them struck her as having been given the gift of laughter, let
alone, she thought, borrowing a quote from Sabatini, a sense that the world was mad.

“You can skip the wisecracks,” the female cop named Smith said somberly. “We've heard it all. Is the victim inside?”

“No,” Judith replied. “The victim is in our neighbor's backyard.” She pointed to the Busses' bungalow. “I don't know who it is. Mrs. Buss collapsed and hasn't been able to tell us much.”

“Are you sure this person is dead?” Wesson asked without any change in his solemn expression.

“You'll have to find that out from Mrs. Buss,” Judith said. “Or by seeing for yourself.”

Smith stood ramrod straight under the porch light. “Where is Mrs. Buss?”

“In our living room,” Judith replied. “She's receiving medical treatment.”

Wesson frowned. “Was she injured as well?”

Judith made a disparaging gesture. “Of course not. She's in shock from finding the corpse.”
That happens to people who aren't used to stumbling over murder victims.

Smith nodded once. “Is this death connected to the party that was held earlier? The patrol officers from the previous shift were called to a disturbance at an address in this cul-de-sac.”

“I've no idea if the victim was involved,” Judith declared testily. “Again, you'll have to ask Mrs. Buss. She and her husband hosted the party. The rest of us were involved in the Block Watch potluck.”
Unless you count my idiot husband and my contrary mother.

“Where is Mr. Buss?” Wesson asked, leaning across the threshold in an apparent attempt to look inside.

“He's not here,” Judith snapped. “I assume he's at home.”

The young officers exchanged glances, but didn't speak. As if they communicated with ESP, Smith and Wesson turned around and headed down the steps. Judith watched them pick
their way through the cluttered cul-de-sac. As far as she could tell, there were no lights on in the Busses' house. She waited to see if anyone came to the door. After a few minutes, the cops gave up and walked in the direction of the backyard. Judith went back into the living room, where Herself was lying limply on the sofa. Joe, wearing his short summer pajamas and a pair of worn Romeo bedroom slippers, stood by the window seat, arms folded across his chest, a worried expression on his round face.

“Well?” Judith said, joining him.

Joe shrugged. “She's okay. But I still haven't had a chance to ask who the hell is dangling out there in her cherry tree.”

“It's not Billy, I assume.”

“I guess not. She would've said so before she passed out.”

Judith watched Kinsella, who was kneeling next to the sofa and speaking quietly to Vivian. The other EMTs stood idly by, apparently finished with their duties.

“How,” Judith asked Joe, keeping her voice down, “did Herself get hold of you? I didn't hear the phone ring.”

Joe looked uncomfortable. “She has a whistle. She used to blow it when she wanted me to…um…well…you know.”

“I see. Just like Lauren Bacall and Bogie. ‘If you want me, Steve, just whistle,'” she quoted.

He didn't look at Judith. “Kind of, yes.”

Judith cocked her head to one side. “So she whistled, and you rushed to her side?”

Joe expelled a rueful sigh. “It woke me up. She was under the bedroom window. I guess you were too tired to hear it.”

“Probably.”

Kinsella had stood up. “I think Mrs. Buss will be fine,” he announced. “She's had a severe shock. Have the police arrived?”

Judith nodded. “About five minutes ago. They went over to her house to look for the…accident victim.”

“Okay.” The medic motioned to the other emergency personnel. “Let's hit it.” He turned back to Judith and Joe. “You folks had better do something about that hazardous waste site out front. Didn't somebody already call in tonight about a disturbance around here?”

“Yes.” Joe's tone was curt.

“Must've been some party,” Kinsella murmured. “See you later. Unless I take early retirement.”

The medics and firefighters trooped out of the house. Vivian called Joe's name in a pitiful voice.

“What can I do?” he asked, going over to the sofa.

“I could use a real drink,” Herself said. “If you know what I mean.” She winked—and the other eyelash fell off.

“Sure,” Joe said. “I'll get it.”

Judith sat down on the other sofa. “Would you mind telling us who's dead?”

“Really, Judith,” Herself said sharply, “you sound very callous.”

“I'm not,” Judith retorted. “I'm just…tired.
Who is dead?
”

Heaving a huge sigh, Vivian shook her head. “I've no idea. It's a man. I've never seen him before in my life.” She shuddered. “It was horrible!”

“I'm sure it was,” Judith said, trying to exhibit some of her usual compassion. “Have you any idea how he died? Was he elderly?”

“No.” Herself offered Joe a feeble smile as he handed her a stiff bourbon over ice. “Thanks, darling. You're a pet. As always.”

Without looking at either his past or present wife, Joe sat down next to Judith. “You'd better tell us what happened, Vi, before the detectives get here. Why were you outside in the middle of the night?”

Vivian frowned. “Middle of the night? I suppose it is—to some.”

“That doesn't tell me why you were outside.” Joe sounded very much like the policeman that he'd been for so many years.

Herself took a big sip of bourbon and shrugged. “I wanted some fresh air. The house seemed very stuffy. It doesn't have AC like my condo on the gulf.”

Judith could almost accept the explanation. But not quite. Maybe she didn't want to believe Herself.

“And?” Joe prodded as his ex took another sip.

“And there he was,” Herself said with a helpless gesture. “Hanging from that cherry—or apple or whatever it is—tree. I didn't have to get close to tell he was dead.”

“What did you do then?” Joe inquired.

“I…” Vivian frowned. “I'm not sure. Billy was asleep on the couch. He sort of…wore out after all the commotion. My first thought,” she said somewhat coyly, “was you. After all, you
are
a detective.”

If,
Judith thought,
I have to listen to much more of this simpering old tart play games with my husband while some poor soul is hanging from a tree, I'll run away from home. Or at least go back to bed.

Joe had another question for his ex. “How was he dressed?”

“Dressed?” Herself looked as if she needed a definition of the word. “Oh—I'm not sure. But he
was
dressed.” She swallowed more bourbon and giggled. “You know me, I would've paid attention if he wasn't.”

“That's it,” Judith said, getting up and stomping out of the living room. As she reached the entry hall, Wesson appeared at the door. His stolid demeanor hadn't changed, but he looked pale. Judith wondered if this was the first corpse the young officer had ever seen.

Wesson removed his regulation hat. “My partner is with the body. We've sent for someone from the homicide unit.”
He cleared his throat. “The deceased may have met with foul play.”

“No kidding!”

Smith nodded solemnly. “It's a suspicious death. It might be an accident, but it could also be a suicide or a—”

“Homicide!” Judith broke in. “Ha-ha!”

At last, there was a reaction from Wesson. “Ma'am,” he said, sounding alarmed, “are you okay?”

Judith willed herself to behave as if she were a perfectly normal citizen whose encounter with violent death was a shocking occurrence. “I'm stunned, that's all,” she asserted. “Who is the victim?” She had almost added “this time.”

“We don't know,” Wesson replied, putting his hat back on as both officers stepped inside. “We followed procedure and didn't touch the body. Do you know who found him?”

“I certainly do.” Judith grimaced. “Mrs. Buss is a…a neighbor, and she's in the living room. She's the one who collapsed.”

“Thank you,” Wesson said. “May I talk to her?”

“Be my…of course,” Judith amended. “Go straight through the arch. She's with my husband.”
Who used to be
her
husband,
Judith thought,
and who is also a retired homicide detective, and we both know more about homicide than you two kiddies could ever imagine.

Wesson entered the living room very quietly. Judith heard Joe greet him and introduce Vivian. Not wanting to listen to a rerun of Herself's grisly discovery, Judith went into the kitchen, poured water into a glass, and added a couple of ice cubes. Standing by the sink, she gazed out into the darkness. It was going on four. Very soon, the first streaks of light would appear in the eastern sky beyond the Rankerses' house. It was Tuesday morning. In a little over two hours, some of the neighbors would be up and about. The detectives might still be working what was possibly a crime scene. Judith's only consolation was
that at least this time she wasn't the Mrs. Flynn who had found a dead body.