Judith finally found her voice. “What does all this
have to do with the guests not being able to leave?”
Vito tried to look apologetic, but failed. “I’m afraid
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I can’t discuss that with you at present. But I’m sure
you realize that the studio wants to conduct its own investigation into the cause of Bruno’s death. You must
be aware that the medical examiner’s report is inconclusive.”
“We’re aware,” Joe said with a dour expression.
“Good.” Vito stood up, ever mindful of the crease in
his trousers. “I hope this doesn’t sound crass, but I believe you have a vacant room?”
“Ah . . .” Judith’s jaw dropped. “You mean Bruno’s?
Yes, but—”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll spend the night there,”
Vito interposed. “Right now I have to head back
downtown to talk with the rest of the company at the
Cascadia Hotel. Don’t bother to show me out. I know
the way.” He slipped his sunglasses back on and gave
both Flynns the slightly sinister smile. “I’m a quick
study.”
Despite the lawyer’s assertion, Judith and Joe followed him as far as the entry hall. When the door had
closed behind Vito, Joe put an arm around his wife.
“Let’s go into the parlor in case the guests decide to
come downstairs and commandeer the living room.”
In the gray autumn light with the dead ashes in the
grate and the single tall window streaked with rain, the
room had lost its usual cheerfulness. The parlor
seemed bleak, matching Judith’s mood.
“Whatever are we going to do?” she groaned, slipping into one of the two matching side chairs. “Will
the studio’s investigation make us the culprits?”
“I’ve no idea,” Joe admitted, “but one thing’s for
sure—Stone Cold Sam Cairo isn’t going to rush
around on our account. He’s laughing up his sleeve
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over our dilemma because he hates me. Resents me,
too, which is maybe why he hates me. I always had a
better ratio of cases solved than he did. It was a competition to Sam, one-on-one. The bottom line is we
can’t rely on him.”
Judith felt too dazed to respond.
“So we’ll do our own investigating. I’ve got the experience, and you’ve got . . . a way with people.” Joe
lowered his gaze. It was difficult for him to admit that
his wife’s amateur tactics could ferret out murderers.
“Between us, we may be able to get ourselves out of
this jam.”
“You mean,” Judith croaked, “we informally interrogate them?”
“You do,” Joe said, patting her hand. “I’ll take a
more professional stand. After all, I’m not only a retired cop, but a private detective.” He offered her his
most engaging grin. “Want to hire me?”
Judith grinned back, though she was still upset. “Of
course. I’d better make arrangements with Ingrid for
tonight’s other guests.”
Joe patted her, then started for the door. “I’m on the
case.”
“Oh!” Judith called after him. “One thing.”
“What’s that?”
She swallowed hard. “Do you honestly believe that
Bruno may have been murdered?”
Joe regarded his wife with grim compassion. “I
can’t rule it out.”
Judith’s heart sank. “You sound like a cop.”
He shrugged.
Judith tried to regain her composure. “One more
thing.”
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149
“What?”
“Can I use the kitchen?”
When Judith drained the sink, she felt as if she were
releasing the floodgates of evil. Joe had already removed the rubber spider and fingerprinted the entire
area, including the wayward door, the window and
windowsill, and the faucets. He’d ask Woody Price to
run the evidence through the lab.
Judith called Ingrid at the state B&B association’s
office, but was informed that Ms. Heffelman had the
weekend off. In her place was a soft-spoken woman
named Zillah Young. Apparently Zillah was new to the
hostelry business and didn’t know of Judith’s reputation for murder and mayhem. Without giving the details, Judith meekly asked her to assign the five
Sunday-night reservations to other B&Bs in the area.
Finally, Judith had a chance to call Renie and let her
know about the tragedy. It was shortly after eleven
o’clock, and the Joneses should be back from Mass at
Our Lady, Star of the Sea. Judith would either have to
miss Mass or go in the evening. There was no way she
could leave Hillside Manor at present.
The only guests that Joe had found upstairs were
Dirk Farrar and Angela La Belle. Joe reported that both
were furious. He also noted that they seemed to be
sharing Room Three, which had belonged to Bruno.
“I told them to get out of there,” Joe said. “I want to
search that room thoroughly before Vito settles in.”
“Will they go?” Judith asked, her fingers poised to
call Renie.
“They stomped out of the house five minutes ago.”
Judith sighed. “So there’s nobody here for me to
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Mary Daheim
chat up. Heaven only knows where Dade Costello
went. He seems to wander the neighborhood, thinking
great thoughts.”
“Or homicidal ones,” Joe put in.
“Are you going to search Bruno’s room now?” Judith asked.
“Yes. You want to come along?”
“No,” Judith replied. “I have to call Renie, and then,
if none of the guests are back, I’ll go down to St. Fabiola’s at the bottom of the hill for noon Mass. Oh, by
the way, there’s a book in Bruno’s room called The
Gasman. I heard he based the movie on it. It’s old and
looks as if it’s been cherished. Chips Madigan said
something this morning about Bruno being on a mission. I know it sounds silly, but I’m curious. Why don’t
you bring it down and I’ll call one of my library
mavens to see if they know anything about it.”
“You never came across it when you worked as a librarian?” Joe inquired, referring to the weary years of
Judith’s first marriage when she worked days at the
public library and tended bar at the Meat & Mingle in
the evenings.
Judith shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Joe left the kitchen while Judith dialed Renie’s
number. There was no answer except for Anne’s voice
on the machine.
“Anne Jones here. If you want to reach me immediately, call my cell phone or my pager. The numbers
are . . .” After reeling off the digits, she added, “If you
must speak to anybody else, leave your—” The message cut off abruptly, as if Anne didn’t give a damn
whether the rest of the Joneses ever got a phone call.
Which, Renie asserted, Anne didn’t.
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151
Judith took a plateful of pastries out to the toolshed,
where Gertrude picked over them with a persnickety
air. Finally she selected two custard sweet rolls and
three sugar doughnuts.
“Some breakfast,” the old lady sniffed. “Isn’t it time
for lunch?”
Judith told her mother that lunch would be a little
late. Gertrude sniffed some more.