Here Comes the Bribe (13 page)

“No, I can't,” Renie snapped. “Why doesn't this bozo and the other wackos stop at the store and buy the damned tea? I'm not a shopping service.”

“Doesn't Bill drink herbal tea before he goes to bed?”

“It's called Sleepytime tea,” Renie declared. “Maybe it's herbal, maybe it's not. I don't drink it and all I know is that it has a bear in a nightshirt on the box. Stop talking to me so I can finish waking up or I won't be at your place until this afternoon.” She banged down the phone.

It rang almost immediately. “Judith?” Woody said. “Is Joe there?”

“No,” she replied. “In fact, he was headed for City Hall. He has a missing persons assignment for someone who works for the city. Did you give him the job?”

“No, that would come from the department that employed whoever's missing. I was calling to tell him we got the insurance data on Mrs. Schmuck.”

“Do you want to give it to me so I can pass it on to Joe?” Judith asked in her most ingenuous voice.

Woody chuckled softly. “Well . . . oh, why not? She had three different policies, totaling twenty-one million dollars. One policy would've been worth three times that much if she'd been dismembered.”

“Oh, ugh!” Judith cried. “I don't want to think about that!”

“Maybe you should,” Woody said somberly. “That is, if foul play was involved.”

“You mean because . . . Never mind, Woody. I find that idea upsetting.” Judith paused. “I assume you don't have the autopsy report in yet?”

“No, but we could get it later this afternoon,” he replied. “If we're lucky. What time do you expect Joe to come home?”

“I never know for sure,” Judith said, “but unless he's on a stakeout probably around five thirty. You know what traffic's like these days.”

He assured Judith that he certainly did and rang off.

Phyliss appeared in the kitchen, wielding a dust mop. “When can I start upstairs? Your heathen guests are milling around in the hall. Do I have to work around them?”

“Actually, one of them is a minister. In fact, he seems to be highly regarded among the others,” Judith said, unable to resist the opportunity to see how her cleaning woman would react. “You might want to introduce yourself.”

Phyliss's eyes narrowed. “What kind of minister?”

“The Christian kind,” Judith replied.

The suspicion remained. “I'll see about that.” Waggling the dust mop, she marched off down the hall. But before Phyliss could go farther than the back stairs, the Schmuck party came down the front stairs—and went out the door. Judith shrugged and thought about what to make for dinner. If the weather held, maybe they could barbecue. That would be Joe's job. With guests usually arriving and the cocktail hour ritual to oversee, she never had time to get the coals started properly.

Ten minutes later, Joe came in through the back door. Judith looked up from her recipe file. “What happened?” she asked in surprise.

“The missing person was found,” Joe replied, shrugging out of his sport coat and coming into the kitchen to kiss his wife's cheek.

“Where did they find him?”

“On the job,” Joe replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “He'd taken off early Friday and gone fishing for the weekend over in the eastern part of the state. His wife was out of town visiting her sister, so he decided to take off, too.”

“Then who reported him missing?”

“The neighbor. They'd been asked by Mrs. Ethanson to take in the mail. When the wife went over there Saturday, she found Ethanson's official badge on the front porch. Mrs. Glubbet or whatever the neighbor's name is thought there was something sinister about it, so she panicked and called City Hall. Mrs. Ethanson isn't due back until tonight.”

Judith stared at Joe. “Ethanson? Ethan Ethanson?

“Right.” Joe looked puzzled. “How did you know that?”

“That was the name on the city inspector's badge who was here Saturday,” Judith replied. “I wondered why he'd come on a weekend. This is all really strange because I think I saw him yesterday sitting in his car outside of the cul-de-sac as if he was keeping an eye on the immediate vicinity. How did he get hold of the real Ethanson's badge?”

“I don't know. I didn't ask. Weird,” Joe muttered. “Why would anybody impersonate a city inspector?”

Judith shrugged. “I've no idea. Unless it somehow involves our peculiar guests.”

Joe fingered his chin. “Maybe I should track down Ethanson and ask if he knows why his badge ended up on his front porch. Of course he's probably working in the field today.”

“Maybe you can leave a call for him,” Judith suggested. “Oh! Woody called about Millie's insurance policies.” Her dark eyes widened at revealing the large amount. “Twenty million dollars.”

Joe whistled softly. “The Schmucks must be loaded. How can that be? Inheritance?”

“That's possible,” Judith allowed. “I can't imagine Rodney pulling in big bucks as a motivational speaker.”

“Those guys do, though,” Joe murmured. “It all sounds like bull to me, but what do I know? I'm a retired cop and a plebeian part-time PI.”

Judith put her hand on his arm. “But I wouldn't love you so much if you weren't. Plebeian, I mean. After Dan died, I felt more like a pauper. He had no insurance and he'd never worked enough to have much Social Security or any kind of pension. You know that's why I had to turn my family home into a B&B to make a living. Librarians don't earn large salaries unless they're administrators. I'd have hated that part. I wanted to help readers, not supervise staff.”

“That's because you're a real person, Jude-girl.” He kissed her gently. “No autopsy report yet?”

“No. Woody thought maybe this afternoon.”

“He'll be lucky if it's that soon. I'm going to change. Speaking of that, the Subaru needs an oil change. I'll take it to the Shell station over at MidBay after lunch. It's too bad we don't have a gas station on the hill anymore. I guess even the oil companies can't afford a site around here.” Joe ambled out of the kitchen.

It occurred to Judith that apparently the Schmucks could afford
to buy property on Heraldsgate Hill. She wondered where they got so much money. And, because her mind sometimes worked in devious ways, she realized that how they'd acquired their wealth could be through ill-gotten gains. Often, money was a motive for murder.

R
enie arrived shortly after eleven thirty. “Joe's home? Or did he take the bus to wherever he had to go on the 'tec job?”

Judith explained what had happened with the not-so-missing city inspector. Renie looked puzzled. “Do you think the real Ethan was set up by the guy who came to the house? Are you sure he was the same man sitting in the car across the street? And why was he doing that?”

Judith laughed. “You must be awake. You're asking a lot of questions.”

“That's to keep my mind off the fact that you still haven't made cookies. I already checked.” Renie went to the fridge and took out a can of Pepsi. “I'd cadge lunch off of you if I hadn't finished breakfast less than an hour ago. Pancakes and lamb kidneys. Yum!”

“Ick! Innards! How can you eat those things?”

“As fast as I can get them in my big mouth,” Renie replied. “Well? Are you avoiding my queries?”

Judith poured a cup of coffee and joined her cousin at the table. “I think that was the phony inspector outside the cul-de-sac. I'm fairly good at recognizing faces—unlike you. Remember years ago when you didn't recognize your own mother at the Belle Époque Department Store?”

Renie winced. “Only too late did I realize it was Mom. I was taking back the hideous plaid jacket she and Dad had given me for Christmas. You got one, too. Your mother had gone to the same sale, but you didn't get caught returning yours. When Aunt Gert asked why you didn't wear it, you told one of your monster fibs. You said you'd been mugged and the thief had stolen it. Of course she believed you, even though she should've known no respectable crook would have been seen in a police lineup wearing that ugly jacket. What were our mothers thinking?”

“About the sale price,” Judith replied. “They do love a sale.”

“So do we have a plan?” Renie asked.

“A plan?” Judith paused. “I hadn't thought that far ahead. But maybe we should visit some of the stores to see if Clark Stone's wallet has been turned in. He thinks he lost it while he and Belle were shopping Saturday.”

Renie seemed disinterested. “So? Why do you care? Let Clark Stone find his own blasted wallet. You're not his babysitter.”

“I suppose you're right,” Judith allowed, seeing Phyliss come into the hall from the back stairs.

“I'm saved again!” she exulted, entering the kitchen. “Hallelujah!”

“Oh, good grief!” Renie muttered, turning around to look at the cleaning woman. “How many times is this?”

Phyliss took umbrage. “You Catholics have some strange ideas about being saved,” she declared. “All you do is show up and watch your priest say a lot of mumbo jumbo and make hand jive on the altar. I know, I went to one of your churches years ago. He finally talked in English for a few minutes, but his big message was needing more volunteers for bingo night. If that isn't gambling and a sin to boot, I don't know what is.”

“No, you probably don't know,” Renie responded. “That must've been fifty years ago. The Mass has been in English since the early 1960s. And we never played bingo in Latin.”

Judith decided to intervene and looked at Phyliss. “I gather you met the Reverend Kindred?”

“I did for a fact,” Phyliss replied, her gray sausage curls bobbing. “Fine Christian man. We had quite a coming-to-Jesus talk. I saw him before he went to the zoo. He made a comical joke about Noah and the Ark, but I can't remember how it went. Something to do with aardvarks. Maybe if I prayed on it, I could remember.”

Renie feigned a yawn. “Spare me. Did the rev offer to buy the apartment house where you live?”

Phyliss scowled. “No. Why would he do that?”

The exchange between the two women was giving Judith one of her headaches. “Never mind, Phyliss. Have you made the guest room beds?”

“Just finished, praise the Lord,” Phyliss replied. “Mrs. . . . Twix?” She shrugged. “Whatever her name is insisted I shouldn't bother, but I did up the rooms anyway after they went to the zoo.”

“It's Mrs. Wicks,” Judith murmured. “That's fine. By the way, I bought a new ironing-board cover, but I haven't put it on yet. It's next to the dryer in the basement.”

“You should ask Reverend Kindred to bless it,” Phyliss said. “He blessed my dust mop. He told me I reminded him of Martha in the Bible. You know, the one who did all the housework.” Looking pleased with herself, Phyliss stalked off back down the hall.

Renie was looking bemused. Judith asked her why.

“Because I know what you plan to do,” her cousin replied. “I'll help you search their rooms, of course. They can't stay all day at the zoo.”

Judith glanced at the old schoolhouse clock. “I have to make Mother's lunch first. Why don't you go up to make sure Rodney left with the rest of them? If he stayed here, it doesn't matter, really. I've already gone over Room One.”

“Sure,” Renie said. “Why don't you whip up a batch of cookies while you're at it?”

Judith didn't bother to comment, but merely glared at her cousin.

I
'd forgotten how small Room Two is,” Renie remarked, glancing out the window. “When did you put a double bed in here? It barely fits. Is it made of sponge?”

“A couple of years ago,” Judith replied, opening the top bureau drawer. “I can put only slim people in here.”

Renie examined a bong. “Belle and Clark probably don't notice that the room's not much bigger than my master bedroom's closet. They may not know they're in a room.”

“Nothing much in these drawers—just clothes,” Judith noted before opening the small wardrobe. “Same here, except for a folder. Can you bend down to pick it up off the floor for me?”

“Sure.” Renie obliged, but opened the folder before handing it to Judith. “Sheesh. Either Belle or Clark writes poetry—badly.” She paused, scanning the handwritten words. “It must be Belle's. The first page is an ode to her mother. Oh, double gack! She must've been really bombed when she penned this crap. See for yourself.”

Judith took a couple of sheets from her cousin. “‘Mom has a cloud for her shroud,'” she read to Renie. “‘I'd cry aloud if I didn't know she's proud of her cloud.' I don't think I can go on. It gets worse.”

“How could it?”

Judith took a deep breath. “‘Mom's proud of her cloud, though it's not a shroud and the music's not loud, but sounds like tinkling bells and there are no smells. Sweet release and lots of peace.' Trust me. It doesn't get any better. What about the other stuff Belle wrote?”

Renie scanned a few more pages. “Just more musings, unless you want to hear ‘Ode to Grass' or ‘What I See When I Get High.'
There are writers who can put together some pithy stuff when they're smoking weed, but Belle isn't one of them.”

“I don't see anything else of interest in here,” Judith said. “Let's move on. And remind me to fumigate this room when the Schmuck party leaves or else the next guests could get high just being in here.”

“It's a wonder Phyliss didn't comment about the smell,” Renie said as they went into the hall.

“She has sinus problems among her many other complaints. Maybe she didn't notice.”

“Who's in here?” Renie asked as Judith led the way into Room Three.

“Dr. Sophie and Clayton the Blogger.” She paused. “Doesn't it strike you as odd that Belle didn't write something that conveyed her grief over her mother's death? She did say something to me about how . . . not sad, not tragic, but . . .
wrong
it was that her mother died so young.”

“I don't know,” Renie answered after they entered the room. “People grieve in different ways. Maybe Belle was high when she talked about Millie. Often, when someone who isn't elderly dies, their loved ones feel it is
wrong
that the person was taken away before he or she was able to live into old age. Remember how Grandpa Grover always read the obits first in the newspaper?”

Judith smiled at the recollection. “Yes. If the person—even if he didn't know the deceased—was younger even by a year, he'd gloat and I say, ‘I managed to outlive that guy.' It was as if life was a game he was playing and he wanted to triumph over as many people as he could. But if it was someone who'd died much younger, he'd act puzzled, shake his head, and mutter that it wasn't fair.”

“He could be gloomy, especially when Uncle Corky and Uncle Al went off to war,” Renie remarked, searching through the closet. “There's a laptop on the shelf. I assume it's what Clayton uses for his blogs. Do you want to read any of his blather?”

“If I do, I'll check him out on my computer,” Judith replied. “He may have had some comments about what happened to Millie unless he's doing a series on hyenas.”

“For a supposedly well-to-do surgeon, Sophie seems to have shopped at Goodwill,” Renie said. “Her taste in clothes is reprehensible.”

“And your Wisconsin Badgers T-shirt is a fashion statement?” Judith retorted.

“Knock it off,” Renie shot back. “You know Bill got his undergraduate degree at Wisconsin.”

Judith opened the last of the dresser drawers. “So far, there isn't much . . . Ah! A metal box. Now, why would anyone bring a . . . It's locked.”

“So? You have a knack for picking locks. Give it a shot.”

“I can't.” Judith looked sheepish. “Sophie's a doctor. It could be patient information. Peeking would be morally wrong.”

“Are you serious? Since when did ethics get in the way when you're sleuthing?”

“Since now,” Judith declared. “There
are
limits.” Reluctantly, she put the box back in the drawer. “Face it, coz. Sophie may have patients who have questions. She may bring their histories when she travels.”

“If you're right, her files may not be hard copies, but on disks or an external hard drive,” Renie said. “That could complicate your snooping.”

Judith put the box back in the dresser. “That's not the point. I won't violate my own brand of professional ethics. Let's move on.”

“Your call. Do we access Room Four via the adjoining bathroom?”

“We might as well. That one belongs to Stuart and Cynthia Wicks. They decided to stay on after all.” Judith opened the bathroom's second door. “Matching luggage,” she noted, seeing two maroon hardside spinner cases at the foot of the bed. “They look very sturdy. And expensive.”

“Fairly new, too,” Renie remarked. “No big patches of ugly red tape like Bill put on all of ours so we can spot the luggage after it's been unloaded. These suitcases are locked, by the way.”

“Of course,” Judith murmured. There was no closet in Room Four, only a small rack for hanging up clothes. She started searching the bureau. “Nothing. They've never unpacked. Let's hope the Crumps have something of interest in Room Five.”

But except for Agnes's prayer book on the nightstand and several kinds of digestive aids, there was little of interest other than a phone number scrawled on a Post-it note.

“Where's the 213 area code?” Judith asked.

“Los Angeles,” Renie replied. “Mainly downtown. The reason I know that is because the Saks store I go to when I'm in L.A. is in Beverly Hills and that's the 310 area code. Thus 213 would be mainly businesses and government offices. When I go to L.A., I try to never leave Beverly Hills.”

Judith smirked. “Is that where you bought your Badger T-shirt?”

Renie sneered. “Ha ha. I bought it when we visited Bill's relatives in Madison six years ago.”

“How long has the egg yolk been stuck to that sweatshirt?”

Renie glanced at her chest. “I'm not sure. Since Thursday, maybe?”

Judith shook her head in dismay. “When it comes to clothes, you're two different people. I don't suppose you know what the 874 prefix would be?”

“I sure don't. Do I look like Directory Assistance?”

“You look like you
need
assistance,” Judith retorted.

Renie stuck out her tongue, but didn't respond. The cousins moved on to Room Six, where the Kindreds were lodged.

“The rev's flyers,” Renie said, pointing to a small stack on the dresser. “Elsie's makeup case. She wears makeup? Then how come she looks so bad?”

“How do I know?” Judith searched the bureau drawers. “Here's some sort of kit. Oh, it's Elsie's. She's a nurse, you know.”

“Didn't know, don't care,” Renie responded. “What are you doing? Looking for poison?”

“Everything seems harmless to me,” Judith replied, putting the kit back in the drawer.

“I found a Bible,” Renie said. “It belongs to the rev. His name is inscribed in gold leaf on the cover.” She flipped through the pages. “He's highlighted certain passages from both the Old and the New Testaments. Maybe they're for his sermons.”

Judith found nothing else of interest. “We wasted our time,” she mumbled. “An L.A. phone number and Belle's bad poetry do not advance us in our detection.”

“Stop going all Sherlock Holmes on me,” Renie said, still flipping through the Bible. “Some of these verses Kindred marked are kind of interesting. How about this one—‘Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.' At least that explains why Elsie's so homely despite her makeup.”

“Not helpful,” Judith said, her hand on the doorknob.

“Wait—there's more. ‘In vain, you beautify yourself. Your lovers despise you; they seek your life.' Does that one grab you?”

Judith thought for a moment. “A reference to Millie's project?”

“Maybe. Here's ‘The getting of treasures by a lying tongue is a fleeting vapor and a snare of death.' I like the ‘fleeting vapor' part. It's visual. I wonder how I could work it into one of my graphic designs?”