Here Comes the Bribe (4 page)

“Mother,” Judith said, “you know you made Renie come back to get seconds for you. I follow Auntie Vance's recipe to the letter.”

“What letter?” Gertrude shot back. “
X
for X-rated? And where'd you get that ham this morning? It tasted like an old tire.”

“I think I'll head home,” Arlene murmured. “Bye, everyone.”

“Hey, Arlene,” Gertrude called, “stop in later and I'll let you have some of my Granny Goodness chocolates. I only share them with people I actually like.” She turned to Judith. “Well? Who croaked this time?”

“A guest,” Judith replied. “Apparent heart failure.”

Joe stood up. “Nothing to bother you,” he said to Gertrude. “You don't have a heart. I'll check on Schmuck.” He ambled out of the kitchen.

“What schmuck?” Gertrude asked.

“The guest whose wife died,” Judith replied. “He passed out on the sofa after drinking a lot of bourbon to calm his nerves.”

“Hunh. You sure he wasn't celebrating? I thought you'd do that after McMonigle blew up. I wouldn't have blamed you.”

“Dan and I had some good times,” Judith said quietly.

“Not often.” Gertrude's wrinkled face was unusually sympathetic. “You worked your tail off while you were married to him. Oh, I'm not crazy about Dumbcluck, but I'll admit he's an improvement.”

Judith smiled. “He's terrific and you know it. At least as far as I'm concerned. Do you really want some Pepto-Bismol?”

Gertrude rubbed her stomach. “No. I feel better now.”

“I was about to come out to tell you when Arlene showed up,” Judith said. “I suspect the wedding is off.”

“Just as well,” Gertrude declared. “If they're like most people these days, they won't stay married for long anyway. I read in the paper that almost half the couples in this country split up.”

Renie and Sweetums arrived before Judith could speak. “Here comes the coz,” she announced. “And Furball. Hi, Aunt Gert.” She kissed the old lady's cheek. “It's five to eleven. I'm early. Where do I start?”

“You don't,” Judith said grimly. “The bride's mother died this morning of an apparent heart attack.”

“Right. Very funny. I'm not putting on an apron. You know I hate wearing—”

“I'm serious,” Judith broke in. “Dead serious.”

“Oh.” Renie looked mildly upset. “That's a shame. You mean I got up half an hour early for nothing? Why didn't you let me know?”

“I've been kind of busy,” Judith asserted, glowering at her cousin.

“Say,” Gertrude said, “we could play three-handed pinochle. How about that, girls?”

The “girls” didn't look enthusiastic. Judith spoke first. “I still
have a B&B to run, Mother. For one thing, I have to figure out how to store the . . .” She stopped as a scowling Joe came through the half doors.

“Woody just called my cell while I was trying to coax Schmuck into getting off the sofa. His scanner picked up your 911 call at his house. He's driving over here to check things out.”

Judith was puzzled. “He doesn't need to interrupt his weekend to do that,” she asserted. “Sondra won't be happy about it and I don't blame her. Didn't you tell him what happened?”

Joe grimaced. “Once the medics got the body to the morgue, one of them checked the inside of her mouth. He got suspicious about some residue. It turns out Millie may've been poisoned.”

J
udith flopped down onto a kitchen chair. “I knew it was too good to be true!” she wailed. “Just for once, couldn't somebody die around here without getting murdered?”

“You'd be bored by mere natural causes,” Renie remarked.

“You like pretending you're Sherlock Holmes,” Gertrude declared.

“You keep out of it for once,” Joe said sternly. “Let Woody handle it. He
is
the precinct captain.”

Judith grimaced. “Did I say I wanted to get involved? Right now I'm just annoyed. And wait until Ingrid Heffelman hears about this at the state B&B office. She'll threaten to yank my license again.”

Joe's expression was unreadable. “Whatever. I'm going to drag Schmuck for a walk around the cul-de-sac until Woody gets here. It shouldn't take him too long unless he gets stuck on the floating bridge.”

Gertrude turned her wheelchair around. “If nobody wants to play cards, I'm going back into exile.” She rolled off down the hall.

Joe had backtracked into the kitchen. “The patrol cops have arrived. I'll deal with them before I tackle Rodney. I'll make sure they cordon off Room One with crime-scene tape.”

“You must keep some on hand,” Renie called after him. “Would it be in one of the kitchen drawers?”

Joe ignored her and kept going. She regarded her cousin with a bemused expression. “Do you want me to stick around? I wouldn't mind seeing Woody. It's been a while. His kids must be in high school by now.”

“The oldest is in college,” Judith said. “If Woody's taking over, I'll sit this one out. I don't much like this current bunch of suspects . . . I mean,
guests
. They're really annoying. What I would like to know is why they came all the way up here to have the wedding. Apparently they don't have any friends or family in town.”

“Did the bride and groom plan to honeymoon around here?” Renie asked, sitting down at the table.

Judith also sat down. “No, they're going to Japan.”

“From here?” Renie looked puzzled. “Why didn't they get married in L.A. and fly from there?”

“How do I know?” Judith leaned back in the chair. “Maybe they got a cheaper flight from here. Maybe they're pathological liars. Maybe they came here to deliberately drive me crazy.”

Renie laughed. “Dubious. Uh-oh. Here comes . . . somebody.”

Judith turned to see a somber Cynthia Wicks entering from the dining room. “Mrs. Flynn?” she said, brushing stray strands of gray hair off her forehead.

“How can I help you?” Judith asked.

“As you may've assumed, the wedding is postponed,” Cynthia said in a somber tone. “It doesn't seem right to celebrate a marriage under such tragic circumstances. How much of our money will be refunded?”

Judith stood up. “You intend to check out today?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Stuart and I see no point in staying on.”

“Mr. Schmuck paid for everyone's stay with his credit card,” Judith explained. “We'll have to figure out a way to reimburse him so that he can give you a refund.”

Cynthia frowned. “That sounds very complicated.”

“It's not,” Judith asserted. “It's a matter of sorting out who's staying and who's leaving. Have you discussed that with the other members of the wedding party?”

“No,” Cynthia replied, again fiddling with her hair. “Stuart has a court appearance Monday afternoon in Los Angeles. We planned to take an early flight that morning. But leaving now will give him more time to prepare. This trip was rather inconvenient for us.”

Renie, who had taken a sugar cookie out of the sheep-shaped jar on the table, looked up at Cynthia. “Not as inconvenient as it was for Millie Schmuck.” She bit into the cookie with a vengeance.

“Sadly,” Cynthia said, somehow growing even more melancholy, “Millie didn't take care of herself. She spent too much time fretting over her appearance. It's what goes on inside that counts.”

“Right,” Renie agreed—and stuffed half a cookie into her mouth.

“I do wonder,” Cynthia went on, “what will become of her project. Oh, well.” She turned away and left the kitchen via the half doors.

“What project?” Judith wondered out loud.

Luckily, Renie had swallowed the cookie. “A reclamation project for her looks?”

Judith heard voices. “I think Woody's here with Joe. They came in through the front door.”

“Good.” Renie got out of the chair. “Let's greet them before the official stuff starts.”

Apparently Joe had managed to get Rodney on his feet. The cousins reached the hall, where Joe and Woody were watching the bereaved husband plod up the stairs. Judith winced, noting that Rodney had to clutch the handrail to steady himself. Joe rolled his green eyes at the sight, but Woody remained stoic, a familiar expression.

“Hi,” Judith said, hugging Woody and kissing his mocha-brown cheek. “We've missed you and Sondra. You should've brought her along.”

Woody waited for Renie's effusive greeting before he spoke. “Sondra doesn't like to get mixed up in my job if she can help it. I'm sorry about what happened this morning. The autopsy may prove the medics wrong, but we can't take chances, especially since . . . well, liabilities and all that.”

Judith managed a faint smile. “Not to mention my reputation. You can skip being tactful. I've heard it all by now.”

“Are all the guests on the premises?” Woody asked.

“I'm not sure,” Judith admitted. “Shall I check?”

“I will,” Renie volunteered. “It'll save you a trip upstairs.” She immediately headed off, but paused on the first landing. “Where should I tell them the interrogation will be conducted?”

“The parlor?” Woody suggested, glancing at Joe.

“Sure,” he said. “It's more private. The others can wait in the living room.” He put an arm around Judith. “Hey, this is just like old times.”

Judith winced. “Bad old times,” she murmured. “Coffee?”

The two men had sat down on the matching sofas. “Not for me, thanks,” Woody replied. “I've had my morning quota.”

Joe also declined. Judith joined her husband. Woody asked if they'd mind being recorded. Both Flynns told him they didn't.

“Then,” Woody began after setting up his taping device, “let's begin from the beginning. Who are these people?”

Joe deferred to Judith. “It's a wedding party from L.A.,” she began, and then identified each of the guests. Renie returned halfway through the recital and sat down next to Woody. She didn't speak until her cousin got to the last name.

“Sophie took Belle with her to the spa,” Renie said. “The doctor prescribed getting out of here for an hour or so as good medicine. They should be back soon, according to Clayton Ormsby.”

Woody nodded faintly. “Do you know if all of your visitors were on the premises prior to Mrs. Schmuck's death?”

“I assume so,” Judith replied. “Though some guests like to get up early and take a walk or just go out in the yard. But they were assembled for breakfast—except Rodney Schmuck. He didn't feel well.”

“Hungover,” Joe put in. “The whole bunch got back late from dinner. Millie came downstairs around six thirty to announce their bunch had some dietary restrictions.”

Woody's dark eyes shifted from Joe to Judith. “Have you been up to their room this morning?”

“No,” she responded. “I haven't had a chance. Will their room be a . . . crime scene?”

It was Woody's turn to grimace. “I'm afraid so, until we get an autopsy and a toxicology report. In fact, since the body was found in the backyard, that's a secondary crime scene. Did Rodney describe what happened to his wife?”

“Not really,” Judith replied. “He was stunned and upset. Then he drank himself into a stupor.”

Woody was silent for a moment, apparently considering his next question. “Could anyone else get into their room?”

Judith said they'd have to have a key. “But,” she added, “Millie may not have locked the door when she came down here earlier. If you recall the layout, Room One is only accessed from the hall and is just off the front staircase. The guests have to share the bathroom between Rooms Three and Four.”

“The place outside where the body was found has been marked off,” Woody murmured, stroking his walrus mustache. “We'll have it processed as soon as we can, though it wasn't close to the walkway. Joe already brought down the juice glass, so Rodney can stay in Room One.”

“That,” Judith declared, “would be a help. I'd like to keep my distance from that guy.”

“I don't blame you,” Woody murmured. “Who's here now? Besides Rodney, that is.”

“All of the men,” Joe replied, then glanced at his wife. “Dr. Sophie and Belle went to the spa, right?”

Judith nodded. But Renie, who was beginning to feel left out, spoke up. “Why would the
surgeon
want a manicure? Aren't her hands too precious to be submitted to a rank amateur?”

“A valid point,” Judith agreed. “Maybe she's having only a pedi.”

Renie sniffed. “If she's so blasted brilliant, why can't she perform surgery with her feet?”

Although Woody looked amused, he changed the subject. “Let's start the questioning with the surgeon's husband. Clayton Ormsby?”

Joe stood up. “I'll go get him. I assume he's in his room.” He paused by the coffee table. “Which room?”

“I told you, I don't know,” Judith admitted.

“Just yell ‘Suspect!'” Renie suggested. “Then see who comes out.”

Joe shot her a disparaging glance before heading for the staircase.

“I assume,” Judith said, “that's our cue to leave you alone, Woody.”

He smiled. “It's my cue to go to the parlor.” He also got to his feet.

The cousins trudged off to the kitchen. Renie sat down and again lifted the sheep-shaped cookie jar's lid. “Zilch?” she asked in a forlorn voice.

“I've been kind of busy,” Judith replied. “Didn't you notice you ate the last one?”

“No. I just reach in and grab. I know what I want.” Renie's disappointment gave way to a thoughtful expression. “When do you start eavesdropping?” she asked as the hands on the old schoolhouse clock ticked off eleven thirty. “Or finding me a snack?”

Judith, who was standing by the half door, ignored the request. “Joe's leading Clayton into the parlor. I suppose my husband will be allowed to sit in on the interview. That doesn't seem fair. He
is
retired from the force.”

“Don't complain,” Renie advised. “You know Joe will tell you what these bozos had to say for themselves.”

“It's not the same,” Judith asserted. “Men aren't as attuned to nuance and body language.”

“True,” Renie agreed rather absently, as if the statement wasn't worthy of further comment. “I don't suppose you have a prime suspect?”

Judith glared at her cousin. “This is where, if I happened to be a Brit, I'd say, ‘It's early days.'”

Renie grinned. “Or early daze, as in—”

“I get it,” Judith interrupted. “I should start making Mother's lunch. It's going on noon. And no, I'm not making you anything. What time did you eat breakfast?”

Renie made a face. “About an hour ago?”

“That's what I figured.” Judith went over to the refrigerator. “It's a shame Mother keeps her eyes glued on her TV. She might've seen something in the backyard.”

“Like what? Millie going ker-flop?”

“Well . . .” Judith paused before removing a bologna package from the refrigerator. “I don't imagine there
was
much to see, really.”

“Go back over what you told me about Millie and the orange juice,” Renie urged.

“I'm not sure it was orange juice,” Judith admitted. “We keep at least three kinds in the fridge—orange, tomato, and cranapple. Of course the residue in the glass would show which of the three it was.”

Renie looked thoughtful. “Allergies, food restrictions,” she murmured. “I know all about the allergy part from my younger years. I assume Millie had a list of the verboten items?”

“She showed it to Joe.” Judith scowled at her cousin. “What are you implying?”

“Well . . .” Renie paused. “I can only judge from my own experience with allergies. Even though I've outgrown some of the tougher ones like wheat, milk, vegetable oil, eggs, I still have the nut and peanut problem. Thus I'm
very
careful about what I eat when I don't know all the ingredients.”

“Are you saying that Millie poisoned herself?”

“Maybe I am.”

Judith sighed. “It'd be a weird way to commit suicide.”

“Where's that list she showed Joe?”

“Millie must've taken it back to the room,” Judith replied, moving away from the table to look out through the dining room and into the hall. “I haven't heard the cops come down yet. I'll try to waylay them before they leave.”

Renie shook her head. “I'll do that now and save you a trip upstairs. Besides,” she added with a grin, “I enjoy seeing a crime scene almost as much as you do.”

“That does it!” Judith exclaimed. “I'm coming with you.”

The two officers had just come out of Room One when the cousins reached the top of the stairs.

“Mrs. Flynn?” the younger and the shorter of the two said—and saw Judith nod. “The room's off-limits until it's been thoroughly processed. We have someone on the way to do that now.”

“Okay,” Judith conceded. “Wait—where did Mr. Schmuck go? I assume this was the room he occupied with the deceased.”

“No idea,” the other patrolman replied. “Maybe to one of the other rooms up here?”

“Maybe,” Judith muttered. “Did you find anything of interest?” she asked in a brighter tone.