Here Comes the Bribe (10 page)

Judith followed Gertrude inside. “It's only a little after eleven, Mother. Why are you hungry so soon?”

“Why not?” the old lady retorted. “I had to put up with one of your miserable guests just now. She sapped all my feeble strength.”

“Who?” Judith asked as she took off her jacket.

“Some scrawny woman who claimed to be a doctor,” Gertrude replied, stopping her wheelchair by the kitchen table. “I told her to examine my goiter and she wouldn't.”

“You don't have a goiter.”

“So? If she was a doctor, then she should have noticed that. Instead, she yapped about patient piracy.” Gertrude frowned. “Or was it patient privacy or privilege or . . .” She shrugged her sloping shoulders. “For all I know, she was blabbing about a privy like the one up at the family cabin. I stopped listening. I just wanted to read the funny papers in peace. Why would she want to talk my ear off in the first place?”

“Good question,” Judith murmured. “Do you remember anything she told you?”

Gertrude suddenly looked sly. “What's it worth to you? How about an early lunch? You shortchanged me on breakfast. I only got two pancakes with my egg and sausage.”

Judith managed to hide her exasperation. “Okay. How about ham on rye with a slice of Swiss cheese, a dill pickle, and some celery sticks?”

“Skip the celery,” Gertrude said. “The strings get caught in my dentures. Make that
two
dill pickles.”

“Fine.” Judith opened the fridge. “Now tell me what Sophie told you about her patients.”

“Sophie? Is that what she's called?” The old lady looked as if she didn't think much of the name. “It was about your latest dead body in the backyard.”

“I've never had a body in the backyard before,” Judith declared. “A year or so ago there was one in Herself's garden, though.”

Gertrude shrugged. “Close enough. The so-called
Doctor
Sophie wanted to know if I'd seen the dead woman alive in the backyard. I didn't see her at all, dead
or
alive. Unlike
some
people,” she went on with an acid glance at her daughter, “I don't take up with hobbies that have to do with people who've been done in. I'll stick to my jumble puzzles.”

“Is that all she mentioned?” Judith asked, sitting down at the table. “I gather Dr. Sophie said something about patients.”

“My patience is being tried by all your goofy questions,” Gertrude declared. “For a doctor, Sophie was kind of fuddled. In fact, she sort of admitted it.” The old lady shrugged again. “It sounded to me as if she thought maybe she'd given somebody the wrong medicine. Or not enough. Or was it too much?” Gertrude now looked a bit fuddled, too.

“That's possible,” Judith allowed. “I wonder . . .”

“You do that,” Gertrude said. “You done making my lunch?”

“Yes,” Judith replied. “Are you eating here or in the toolshed?”

Her mother grimaced. “And have Knucklehead show up while I'm eating? No thanks. That'd spoil my appetite. Anyway, he can't hide in the garage forever. Give me my plate. Then I'm out of here.”

A moment later, Gertrude was gone. Judith remained seated, mulling over Sophie's remarks. Had Millie been under the doctor's care? Of course she might have been when the Schmucks still lived in California. And why had Rodney bothered with the ruse that he and Millie were still L.A. residents? It made no sense. Developers from all over the country were involved with projects in the city's nonstop construction.

Judith's musings were interrupted by a ringing phone.

“Where's Joe?” Renie demanded. “Bill wants to talk to him, but your husband's not picking up his cell.”

“He doesn't take it to church,” Judith replied. “He had to when he was still working for the city and it bothered him when it rang during Mass. It bothered everybody else, too.”

“I didn't ask for an explanation,” Renie said irritably. “The question was where's—”

“Joe's washing the car,” Judith interrupted. “Can Bill wait until Joe comes inside?”

“You know Bill doesn't like to wait,” Renie retorted. “Don't you remember how he didn't come out on the altar at our wedding until I reached the end of the aisle?”

“Actually I don't recall that,” Judith said, trying to remain reasonable. “In fact, you're exaggerating. As your maid of honor, I was at the altar and Bill was there. But I did see him looking at his watch and shaking it a couple of times to make sure it worked. Why is Bill in such a tizzy to talk to Joe?”

Renie's heavy sigh carried over the line. “As you may have guessed, when we were at your house for dinner Friday, the husbands decided they should go on another exotic fishing trip. I got some stuff off the Internet for them last night, so Bill wants to confer with Joe.”

“Oh, good grief!” Judith cried. “‘Exotic' translates as ‘expensive.' How are we—and you guys—supposed to afford another big trip like that?”

“It wasn't all that expensive,” Renie said, now sounding less fractious. “They wheeled and dealed to get a good price, remember?”

Judith wasn't giving in. “It still strained the budget.”

“What budget? We've never had one. Bill and I are weak at math.”

“Oh . . . Never mind. If Joe goes over to talk to Bill, do you want to come here? I need some help trying to figure out my current so-called guests. I've also learned some things you should know.”

“Do I want to know them?”

“Yes. I firmly believe you should be as confused as I am.”

“Well . . . Okay, I suppose that's only fair. Let's see what the husbands end up doing this afternoon.”

Judith agreed and rang off. Ten minutes later, Joe came into the house. “You realize,” he said, washing his hands in the kitchen sink, “that we have to buy a new car one of these days. The Subaru's twenty years old. Even a make as reliable as that one can't run forever.”

“Eighteen,” Judith countered. “And it runs fine. It's your fancy sports car that's costing us repair money now.”

“That's different,” Joe asserted. “It's a classic.”

Judith shrugged. “Then maybe we can't afford you going with Bill on another big fishing trip to Peru or Thailand or Timbuktu.”

“We've made no serious plans,” Joe said, his round face innocent. “We might just go up to British Columbia or maybe Alaska. Those trips are comparatively cheap. By the way, I saw Agnes walk up the drive a few minutes ago, so she didn't get lost.”

“You're trying to divert me.” But Judith frowned. “I didn't hear her come in the front way. In fact, everything's quiet around here.”

“Be thankful,” Joe said, opening the fridge. “You fuss too much in general. Let Woody handle this case. He's an actual cop. Hey, where's the sandwich ham?”

“I gave Mother the last of it,” Judith replied. “There's bologna and roast beef. You won't starve.”

“But I had a yen for ham,” Joe muttered. “Damn.”

The phone rang again. Judith assumed it was Renie. “What now?” she asked after putting the receiver to her ear.

“That's
my
question,” said a female voice that didn't belong to Renie. “In case you've forgotten I exist, this is Mavis Lean-Brodie from KINE-TV. You owe me.”

“I do?” Judith gasped. “How can that be?”

“Because I saved you from a bunch of obnoxious media people yesterday,” Mavis said in the voice that was well known as the longtime news anchor on the city's leading TV station. “As you're aware, I only go on air Monday through Friday. I want an exclusive this coming week on your latest murderous mayhem. I spent part of yesterday helping the cops shoo away some of my competitors from the cul-de-sac. I have friends in high places, kiddo. You and I go way back. I met Woody Price at the same time you did when the fortune-teller got herself murdered at your place.”

“Yes.” Judith saw Joe staring at her. “Of course, Mavis,” she went on for her husband's enlightenment, “you're a local TV institution.”

“Hunh. Some people think I should be
in
an institution by now,” she declared. “Especially those eager, nubile young women who lurk around the station fondling their communications degrees. But enough of that. I want you to dish. How about meeting me for coffee up on top of the hill at Moonbeam's in half an hour?”

“I could do that,” Judith replied. “Um . . . would you mind if my cousin joined us? She was coming over to see me this afternoon. You may remember Serena—or Renie, as she's known in the family.”

“The one with the big mouth and the bigger teeth? Yes, I
remember her. How could I forget?” Mavis said, sounding as if she'd like to do just that. “Oh, why not? You two seem to work as a team. Make it one o'clock. But don't let your cousin try to cadge lunch off of me because she figures I can put it on my expense account. See you soon.” Mavis disconnected.

Renie, however, balked. “You know I almost never watch TV news unless you're on it,” she said. “It's stupid, a bunch of people in heavy makeup—especially Mavis, now that she's older—reading the news off of a teleprompter and changing facial expressions frequently. They use so many filters for her close-ups that she's kind of a blur.”

Judith didn't feel like begging. “So you won't join us at Moonbeam's? I hear they have some new pastries.”

“What kind?” Renie sounded suspicious.

“I don't know,” Judith admitted, “but someone at the drugstore said they were killer.”

“Just your style,” her cousin murmured. “Maybe I'd better come along after all.”

J
udith's curiosity about what had become of Agnes Crump sent her to the front door. She looked outside to see her guest chatting with Arlene.

“Judith!” her neighbor called out. “Agnes has been telling me all about her years in the convent! Most intriguing—except for the nuns. I still have nightmares about them from my schooling at St. Radegunda's. Did I ever tell you about their cure for bed-wetting?”

“Uh . . . no,” Judith replied, trying not to stare at a dazed-looking Agnes. “I mean, you did, a long time ago, but I—”

“Which,” Arlene went on, “is how Agnes saved a man from the gallows.” She took the other woman's hand and beamed at her. “How brave you were, my dear!”

Agnes apparently discovered that she still had vocal cords. “It wasn't as dire as the gallows. It was only a six-month prison term. A case of mistaken identity. I was a legal secretary for several years before I got arthritis in my hands and had to quit. But while I was still able to work, I recall when I typed up the information about the defendant—”

“Yes, of course,” Arlene interrupted, patting Agnes's arm. “But it was so clever of you to notice Mr. Wicked's error. Not everyone would have caught that.”

“Wicks, Mr. Wicks,” Agnes said softly. “It wasn't so much his—”

“Whatever.” Arlene tossed her short honey-colored curls. “But it would've been wicked for an innocent man to be sent to jail for something he didn't do.”

“Yes,” Agnes murmured. “So wrong.” Her blue eyes looked misty.

Arlene gave the other woman one last pat. “You take care. I didn't realize you were at Mass. If I'd known, Carl and I would've driven you back here.” She shot Judith a reproachful glance.

But Agnes came to her innkeeper's defense. “I left after the final blessing. I was afraid it might start raining again. I'm not used to wet weather.”

“We have no other kind,” Arlene declared. “You wouldn't want to live here. Please tell everyone you know back home about all the nasty rain we have and how miserable they'd be if they moved to the area. Have a nice day.” She walked quickly around the hedge and disappeared.

“What a nice lady,” Agnes murmured as she and Judith headed toward the front porch. “You're lucky to have good neighbors.”

“We are,” Judith assured her. “They've been next door since I was in my twenties. By the way, Rodney told me that he and Millie had moved back here not long ago. Why did they leave L.A.?”

“Oh . . .” Agnes's gaze roamed up to the entry-hall ceiling. “Millie had never lived here, but . . . I guess they both thought a change would be good for them.” She didn't look at Judith, but lowered her eyes to study the Persian carpet.

“I understand Rodney was born here,” Judith said, despite her reluctance to bring up the touchy subject of who had been his mother.

The blue gaze briefly met Judith's dark eyes. “He was. I know that's true. Excuse me, Mrs. Flynn,” Agnes said, speaking more rapidly than usual. “I should lie down for a bit. After Mass, I rest and contemplate.”

“Of course.” Judith headed for the kitchen.

Joe was eating his lunch. “I'm going over to see Bill in a bit. You got any plans?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “I'm meeting Mavis Lean-Brodie and Renie for coffee at Moonbeam's.”

“Oh,” Joe said, looking faintly chagrined. “I forgot to mention that Woody told me Mavis was outside the cul-de-sac yesterday shooing away the media competition. Why don't you drop me off at the Joneses' house? I can go on Bill's walk with him later and get some exercise.”

“Good idea,” Judith said. “Maybe I'll get something to eat at Moonbeam's. I still feel full from breakfast.”

“You're not fussing about your weight again, are you?”

Judith put a hand to her abdomen. “I always gain a few pounds after Easter. I've lost some already, but I have two, three more to go.”

“You're tall and fairly big-boned, so it never shows.” Joe grinned. “Not even when you take your clothes off. You're too damned sensitive about your weight.”

Judith carefully leaned down to kiss her husband's increasingly higher forehead. “You're really kind of sweet,” she said.

“Don't tell anybody,” Joe murmured. “It'd ruin my private-eye reputation. Oh!” The green eyes—magic eyes, Judith called them—lit up. “I forgot. While we were at church, I got a call on my cell for an assignment starting tomorrow. Missing person case. It should be easy. With your penchant for crime, the guy will probably show up here.”

Judith finally sat down. “Who is he?”

“A city employee,” Joe replied after swallowing the last of his sandwich. “I've got his name upstairs. He's only been gone a couple of days, but his wife is worried. She insists her husband's not the type to go off on his own. I've heard that line before. Have we got any pie left?”

“Only one slice of the boysenberry,” Judith said. “Go ahead. I don't need it. I'm watching my weight, remember?”

“Do I hear something snide in your tone?” Joe inquired, one hand going to his slight paunch.

“I rarely nag,” Judith said primly. “I would, however, suggest that if your stomach gets too big, it might bother your precious back.”

“Touché,” Joe murmured. And got up to fetch the pie from the refrigerator.

A
t exactly one o'clock, Judith was the first to arrive at Moonbeam's. The coffee shop was busy as usual, but she found a table that would seat three. Recognizing two couples from church, she smiled and nodded. Just as she was checking out the numerous varieties of coffee specialties, Mavis walked briskly through the door. At least a dozen heads swiveled to stare.

“I hate being a so-called celebrity,” she muttered, glaring at a bald man at the next table who was virtually ogling her. “I'm a journalist, damn it. And unlike a lot of TV talking heads, I still chase news.”

“I know that,” Judith said, smiling again. “Otherwise, I wouldn't be here with you.”

“Right.” Mavis slipped out of her chic jacket. “Where's your bratty cousin?”

“Renie will be along eventually,” Judith said. “Shall we wait for her or go get our orders now?”

“We order,” Mavis asserted with a flip of her blond pageboy. “She can fend for herself. I know what I want—an espresso macchiato and some Greek yogurt.”

The line was surprisingly short. Judith ordered a skinny latte and a ham-and-Swiss panini. As they took their items back to the table, Renie half stumbled inside. Apparently she was having trouble with the swinging door, which seemed to have declared war on her. Or, Judith mused, maybe she was cussing just for the heck of it. Acknowledging her cousin and Mavis, Renie barged past two stout older ladies and got ahead of them in line.

“She hasn't changed,” Mavis remarked ruefully.

“She never does,” Judith said. “But she's basically . . . decent. What do you want to know about my latest dead body?”

“How she got that way,” Mavis answered. “Camilla Schmuck, correct? First, has her death been ruled a homicide or do the cops just figure it must be since it happened at your place?”

As much as Judith liked and respected Mavis, she was loath to tell her too much about the current B&B guests. “They came in a group to hold a wedding, all having known each other when they lived in the L.A. area. Yesterday morning Millie was found dead in the backyard. An autopsy was requested. For all I know, she died of natural causes.”

Mavis smirked. “But you think otherwise.”

“I'm not sure I do,” Judith replied. “It
is
possible.”

“Not with you,” Renie stated, plopping down in the empty chair. “Hi, Mavis. What's that gruesome goop you're eating?”

“I call it lunch,” Mavis snapped, staring at Renie's hefty chicken BLT sandwich. “It's not as grandiose as yours, of course.”

“This isn't lunch,” Renie replied. “I ate that at noon. This is snack.”

“Egad,” Mavis said under her breath. “You really are Petunia Pig. How come you're not fat?”

Renie, who had taken a big bite of sandwich, merely shrugged.

“Metabolism,” Judith declared. “Some pigs got it, some pigs don't.”

Mavis merely arched her pristinely plucked eyebrows. “As you were saying about your latest corpse . . . Did the wedding come off, by the way?”

Judith shook her head. “Millie was the bride's mother. They had to postpone it. Really, I don't see much news value since we don't know how or why she died.”

“I like to be prepared,” Mavis said. “Knowing you . . .”

“Stop.” Judith had held up a hand. “Look, if it turns out not to be a natural death, I promise I'll let you know. But we may not
find out until later this week. You know how long an autopsy can take. We've got too many people living—and dying—here these days.”

“But,” Mavis said, “most of them don't do it in your backyard.”

T
he remainder of the get-together turned to other topics, mainly about other story lines that the KINE-TV crew was developing for future broadcasts. Shortly before two, Mavis announced that she had to change and head for a cocktail party at the mayor's residence. Renie decided she might as well go back to Hillside Manor, since the husbands were no doubt still planning fishing trips that could wreak havoc with their respective family incomes.

When they reached the B&B, Renie looked up at the clouds that had rolled in while they were at Moonbeam's. “If Bill and Joe are going to walk later on,” she said, “they'd better both wear hooded jackets. Otherwise, they might get wet and shrink.”

Judith glanced at her cousin as they went in through the back door. “Are you implying they don't know enough to keep from getting rained on? Joe's a native and Bill's lived here forever.”

“I'm saying men don't always think,” Renie replied. “Take Rodney Schmuck, for example. What's his point in insisting that you're his mother? It makes no sense.”

Judith sat down at the kitchen table. “I've no idea,” she said. “The only thing I can think of is that his mother really was named Judith Grover. Maybe she abandoned him at birth or gave him up for adoption. I don't even know
where
he was born, though he claims to have proof that I'm the one who gave birth to him.”

“You'd probably remember it if you had,” Renie said with a straight face. “Heck, I'd remember it. I'd have come to see you in the hospital. How come you haven't found Rodney's so-called proof during your searches of their guest room?”

“Good point,” Judith conceded. “The only thing I can think of is that he's got it on him. Maybe in his wallet. You can get birth
certificates shrunken down to that size and laminated for international travel purposes. I should've frisked him after he passed out yesterday.”

Renie, who had sat down across from Judith, frowned. “Where are all the goofballs? It's really quiet around here.”

“I don't know,” Judith admitted. “With all the high-tech stuff, they could be watching movies on their phones. Maybe they rented a car. Or a van. Or a damned bus.” She covered her eyes with her hands. “I just wish they'd never come here. They're a really annoying bunch of people. Except maybe Agnes Crump. She's merely kind of pitiful.”

Renie was looking unwontedly serious. “I really think you should have Bill check out Rodney. He doesn't sound as if he's got it together.”

“Of course he doesn't,” Judith said. “His wife just died. Or do you mean the mama bit? And would Bill be willing to talk to him?”

“Probably not,” Renie replied. “He doesn't like to work for free. In fact, Bill doesn't like to work. Since he officially retired from his psychology practice, he takes only very special cases, such as those who have not only mental and emotional problems, but enormous bankrolls.”

Judith's face was wry. “He's all about the compassion, isn't he?”

“Skip the sarcasm. At least Bill is honest about his motives. Speaking of which, just in case Millie was whacked, have you figured out why anybody would want her dead?”

“No,” Judith said. “I'm waiting for Joe to hear from Woody about background and such. Then there's the problem of these people sticking around inside. Unlike the usual guests, they seem to have absolutely no interest in seeing the local sights. But you'd think they might have personal errands to run while they're here. Somehow I don't see them as the type who'd use public transit.” She leaned back in the chair. “That's what bothers me most. There's nothing typical about these people. Yes, they came
for a wedding, but it got called off. They're stuck here—at least Rodney is—until the autopsy is finished. I can't put them up after tonight because I've got guests coming in Monday evening. They'll . . .” She shut up as Stuart Wicks came through the back hall and into the kitchen.

He didn't bother with a preamble to his news. “I finally heard back from a minion who works for your police captain. Price prefers that we remain in the city. I am outraged,” he concluded without inflection or expression.

Renie looked up at him. “How can we tell? Finger puppets might work. Or turning blue.” She stood up. “I need Pepsi.”

Judith felt obligated to speak. “Can you ask for a postponement?”

Stuart arched one dark eyebrow. “On a Sunday?”

“Oh.” Judith's smile was feeble. “No, I suppose not. Could you delegate to someone in your office or do you practice alone?”

“I'm one of the senior partners in a large firm,” Stuart replied with dignity. “We have over sixty attorneys just in our main office in Century City and three other offices in L.A. County.”

“That's very impressive,” Judith said, noticing that Renie had wandered back down the hall and was going outside. “I don't think Cynthia told me if your court appearance is for a criminal or a civil case.”