Here Comes the Bribe (7 page)

“You're disappointed,” Renie remarked. “Me, too. I was kind of hoping for a threatening letter. Or at least blackmail.”

Judith looked puzzled. “So what was destroyed and put in the Rankerses' garbage can?”

“Rodney's proof that you gave him birth without noticing it?”

“Maybe,” Judith allowed. “If the so-called proof exists. Damn.” She glanced again at the suitcase. “There might be a secret compartment.”

Renie leaned against the bureau. “Go for it. But make it quick. I still haven't had a snack. I may pass out before dinnertime.”

Judith barely heard her cousin. “Millie's purse—what became of it?”

“It turned into a briefcase?”

Judith scowled at Renie. “You're not helping. I know she had
one; I saw it. It wasn't really big like yours or even mine, but it wasn't a little clutch type either. Give me a hand. I want to check under the mattress.”

“Oh, good grief!” Renie cried. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Come on, lift up the bottom end. I'll get the top.”

But there was nothing to see—except the cousins staring at each other. Renie got down on her hands and knees to peer under the bed.

“I'm doing this before you ask me to because I knew what would be coming next. All clear except for some bedroom slippers.” She stood up again. “Has it occurred to you that whatever you're looking for could've been burned and scattered to the wind?”

“Yes,” Judith replied, “but I can only hope otherwise. It happens in mystery novels.”

“This is real life. Let's go back downstairs where the food is.”

“Let's not. If all the guests are out of the house, we can search the rest of the rooms. If anybody comes back, we still have the towels.”

“Please.” Renie held her head. “You can do this by yourself when they go out to dinner.”

“Okay, okay.” Judith picked up the towels.

Renie didn't say anything until they were back in the kitchen. “Do you still want me to call the limo services?”

“Yes.” Judith opened the fridge while Renie dialed the first listing for upscale car services.

Five minutes passed while Judith wiped down the refrigerator's exterior and Renie kept making calls. “No luck yet with the car services?” Judith finally asked.

“I've still got two to go,” Renie replied. She resumed dialing.

Judith listened with mild interest as she considered her family dinner entrée. Too late for pot roast. She'd thaw some salmon steaks that were in the fridge's freezer compartment. Her attention was caught by her cousin's expression of surprise.

“What do you mean?” Renie said into the phone. “Oh. I see. Has the limo been returned? . . . Who did you say rented it? . . . Spell that . . . Got it. Thanks.” She hung up. “The limo itself was rented by someone named Floyd Kronk—that's with a
K
. Two
K
s, one at the beginning, one at the end. It was returned this morning. The limo, I mean. Not one of the
K
s.”

Judith sat down across from Renie. “Floyd Kronk? Who is he?”

“Hey, I'm just the messenger. Whoever he is, he'd have to show a valid driver's license, right?”

“True.” Judith was silent for a few moments. “Let me put that name into the computer.” Without much hope of finding such a person, she moved to the far end of the counter. “Nothing,” she said, “except for a Disney character.”

Renie shrugged. “Too bad it wasn't Mickey Mouse. He'd be easy to pick out of a police lineup. Oh—Kronk has a local address. Let's try the old-fashioned way.” She turned to the directory's white pages. “Here's F. F. Kronk. He lives over on the bluff.”

“He does?” Judith was flabbergasted. “Now we're getting somewhere. Let me see that number. I'm going to call Mr. Kronk.”

Renie handed over both the phone and the phone book. Judith punched in the number, but after eight rings she expected to hear Kronk's voice mail. Instead, a raspy male voice said hello.

For once, Judith didn't resort to fibbing in the interest of truth and justice. After being informed that Kronk had indeed driven the Schmucks to Hillside Manor, she asked where he'd picked them up.

“Bottom of the hill,” Kronk replied in his gruff voice. “Right by that goofy-looking music museum. Tourists, right? Everybody goes to see all that stuff at the Center.”

“Actually,” Judith confessed, “I'm not sure they
are
tourists.”

“Could be so,” he conceded. “They didn't want to hear my usual spiel about the city. They were too busy yakking among themselves. That's fine with me, I get damned sick of giving all the blah-blah to visitors who end up moving here and ruining the
place. Traffic! Specially when I have to drive that damned stretch thing. I might as well use a bus for my customers.”

“Maybe,” Judith said hopefully, “they were discussing their plans after they got here.” She carefully avoided saying “schemes.”

“Could be,” Kronk agreed. “They were sure tickled with themselves. From the bit I heard, maybe they were bird-watchers, real excited about pigeons. Guess they don't have 'em where they live.”

“Maybe not,” Judith murmured. “Actually, they came here for a wedding. Did they mention that?”

“If they did, I didn't hear it,” Kronk replied. “For all I know, they could've come to town for a funeral.”

Judith didn't comment. The obvious remark would have evoked the tragedy in Hillside Manor's backyard. Neither she nor Renie needed any reminders of another death so close to home.

But she did catch the remark about pigeons. Apparently, she was supposed to have been one of them. At least they hadn't mentioned a dead duck.

W
hy,” Judith said, “would anybody poison Millie? If, in fact, she and not Rodney was the intended victim?”

“Because they're both obnoxious?” Renie suggested.

“They're all kind of strange. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was some kind of act.” She frowned. “In some ways, it is. Look at the reverend—he's got the real estate scam going on. Maybe he's not actually a preacher.”

“He can't be both?” Renie tapped the table with a long fingernail. “If Kindred is really some kind of minister, it's a fringe sect. Those groups are usually small. The main man—or woman, for that matter—can't rely on the collection basket to make a living.”

“Good point,” Judith allowed. “Of course I originally believed they were from Southern California. They have even more oddballs there than we have up here. Of course, they have a bigger population to draw from.”

Renie nodded. “Bill's theory about our suicide rate—and San Francisco's—being so high is because all the crazy people from the East and the Midwest keep running farther and farther away from what they think is the source of their problems. They end up here or in the Bay Area and can't go anywhere beyond that. Both cities have all those attractive tall bridges, so they jump. It's terrible, because of course they've brought their problems with them.
Counselors and shrinks like Bill can't really help that much because it comes from within. They can only provide a sympathetic ear.”

“You're depressing me,” Judith declared. “I didn't ask for a dissertation on mental illness.”

“I have to live with it,” Renie said. “I mean, Bill does talk about his job. He can't name names, of course. In fact, he usually can't remember them. Bill's not good with names. He's excellent with faces, though.”

“Too bad he can't look at my guests and figure out which one of them is a killer.” Judith sighed. “It'd help if I knew who was the intended victim.”

Renie leaned back in the chair. “Go over the juice bit again for me, please. You weren't specific earlier.”

“That's because I'm not sure,” Judith replied. “The glass in Room One had been rinsed. The lab might come up with enough residue to figure out if it contained any poison. But nobody else at the dining room table—which is where Millie got it—was poisoned. That suggests that Rodney put the poison in the juice and then refused to drink it.”

“While Millie was standing there watching him?”

Judith made a face. “I know, it doesn't make much sense.”

“Nothing about this whole mess does,” Renie asserted, getting out of the chair. “Hey, I figured out a way to convey recycling. I'll show one of your guests entering the B&B's front door and coming out the back way dead.”

“That's awful,” Judith asserted. “Murder isn't funny.”

“Everything's funny,” Renie shot back. “You know what Grandma Grover always said—‘If I didn't laugh, I might cry.' Good advice.”

Judith didn't argue.

H
alf an hour later, Judith heard the front door open. When she went out into the hall, she saw Dr. Sophie starting up the stairs.
“Would you mind joining me for a moment in the living room?” she called to her guest.

The doctor's eyes were wary, but she complied. Judith gestured at one of the blue sofas, waited for Sophie to sit down, and then seated herself across from her guest.

“I'm sure,” Judith began, “that you and your friends are all very upset over Mrs. Schmuck's untimely death. I know I am.” She waited for a response, but Sophie's mouth remained in a tight line. “You must've been close to her.”

“Fairly,” the doctor finally allowed.

“Naturally, my husband and I are concerned about liability,” Judith said, not without reluctance. “I don't know for certain if Millie took a glass of juice up to her husband, but I'm assuming she did, since she mentioned that was her intention. She didn't get it out of the refrigerator, so I suppose she poured some from one of the pitchers on the dining room table. Is that correct?”

Sophie seemed condescending in manner, but her answer was succinct: “Yes, I believe she used the glass that was at the vacant place setting—where Rodney would have sat—and poured the juice into it.”

“Being a surgeon,” Judith said, in an attempt at flattery, “you must have a very keen eye. Did you notice anything—however insignificant—about the glass itself?”

“Such as poison?” Sophie's expression was ironic. “Hardly. I admit I didn't scrutinize what Millie was doing at the time.”

The doctor's detached attitude about the death of someone who was at least a traveling companion frustrated Judith. But the phone on the cherrywood table rang. “Excuse me,” she said. “I must answer that. It might be a guest reservation.”

It was, however, a fellow Our Lady, Star of the Sea parishioner, Norma Paine. Judith had barely gotten out “hello” before Norma broke in—and Sophie got up to make her exit.

“Arlene told me someone is offering to buy your properties in the cul-de-sac,” Norma said in a booming, imperious voice that
could rattle the china on the living room's plate rail. “I understand you and the Rankerses aren't interested in selling, but we are. I never thought Wilbur would retire from practicing law, but he has to cut down. His health, you know. In fact, we're thinking of retiring to Arizona. He needs more sun and less rain. Don't you, Wilbur?” The question was somewhat less ear-shattering, obviously being an aside to Mr. Paine.

“I didn't realize he was in poor health,” Judith said. “I'm sorry.”

“Oh, he'll be fine with a change in climate,” Norma asserted. “Besides, I'm tired of keeping up such a big house for only the two of us. Anyway, I'd like to get in touch with those guests of yours who are buying up properties around here. Do you think they'll offer a good price? Real estate is ridiculously high on the hill right now, so we might take advantage of it.”

Judith figured Norma would take advantage of just about anything and anybody, including cripples and small children. “Sure, I'll let them know. We'll miss you when you're gone,” she fibbed.

“It'll be an adjustment for us as well,” Norma admitted. “But retirement communities always have plenty of activities. As you know, I like to get involved.”

“Yes—yes, you do, Norma,” Judith agreed, glad that the other woman couldn't see her grimace. “In fact,” she went on as Charlie Crump came into the entry hall via the front door, “I'll tell Mr. Crump right now.”

“Crump?” Norma echoed. “That's an odd name. Oh, well. Thank you, Judith. I'll wait to hear from him.”

Judith called to Charlie before he could start up the stairs. “What now?” he asked, plodding into the living room and looking put upon.

Judith explained the situation with the Paines. “I thought you might want to pass the news on to Reverend Kindred.”

Charlie rubbed at his neck. Apparently he hadn't yet recovered from the kink. “We all dabble a bit in real estate now and then. It isn't easy for Georgie boy to get by passing the hat at church ser
vices. Have you got an address and phone number for these folks?” he asked.

“Yes,” Judith replied, setting the phone down on the little table and taking the directory out of the drawer. She jotted down the required information on a pad.

Charlie scanned the slip of paper Judith had handed to him. He frowned. “Where is this from where we are now?”

“About six blocks west and closer to the top of the hill,” she informed him.

He shook his head and handed the paper back to her. “No use to us. Too far away.” He rearranged his comb-over before trudging out of the living room.

Just as Judith returned to the kitchen, Joe entered through the back door. He saw his wife's inquiring look and shook his head. “Don't ask about the cost of the repair job. It's worse than I thought and Ron's MG guru won't be in until Tuesday. It looks as if I'm without wheels for most of next week.”

“That's okay,” Judith said. “I don't have any big plans for the Subaru. Are you sure the MG is worth spending a lot of money to get it fixed? It's really old.”

Joe's round face looked horrified. “Are you kidding? Do you know what that car is worth? It's a classic! I bought it new in 1962. I've kept it up. I could probably sell it for at least fifty grand.”

Judith resisted asking why he didn't do that. But his comment about the car being a classic made her think. She explained about the phone call from Norma Paine and Charlie Crump's reaction.

“It sounds to me,” she went on, “as if the Schmuck gang wants only this specific bunch of properties. My question is why?”

Joe paused in the act of opening the fridge. “They think we have buried treasure around here? I'll admit, I've thought of burying your mother out there, but I suppose I should wait until she croaks.
If
she ever croaks.” He removed a beer and flipped the tab.

“That's mean,” Judith declared. “And your suggestion about
buried treasure isn't worthy of you. Consider not just this small patch of the hill, but what's around it.”

Joe took a sip of beer and leaned against the counter. “Lots of other houses. Apartment buildings. Condos. A fairly big park just up the hill from us. So?”

Judith nodded. “Exactly. No commercial properties once you get off of Heraldsgate Avenue. It's all residential, but condos are springing up in several parts of the hill, especially on top and over on the north side where Renie and Bill live. I think building a big condominium complex is the Schmucks' plan. But why they've put on this charade with who and what they are puzzles me. If anything, instead of claiming to be from L.A., they should admit they're more local. You know how most people here—especially natives like us—disdain California developers.”

“Woody's checking their credentials,” Joe said. “I gather they aren't listed in the local phone books. But a lot of people don't list anymore because of all the cell phones. I don't get that, unless it's because they keep changing cell companies and have to get different numbers.”

“Some people never have a published number,” Judith pointed out. “Bill and Renie have always been unlisted because they don't want calls at home from his goofy clients.”

Joe drank more beer and then ambled over to the kitchen window. “Nobody in this cul-de-sac is willing to sell out,” he finally said. “If anybody was, the Schmuck gang would lowball them. I wonder if they'd be out of here if Millie hadn't ended up dead.”

“If they're local, why come here at all?” Judith asked.

Joe grinned at his wife. “To ingratiate himself as your son? You've got to admit that caught your attention.”

“It was dumb,” Judith asserted. “I still think he chose the wrong Judith Grover.”

“Maybe.” Joe sounded noncommittal.

Judith changed the subject. “Has the crime-scene processing finished outside?”

“Yes,” Joe replied. “They were done over an hour ago.” The green eyes twinkled. “They found a lot of fingerprints. It turned out they were your mother's. I wonder if I could talk Woody into busting her.”

Judith refrained from gnashing her teeth. “Stop. I really get irked about how both of you constantly trash each other. Did the 'tecs find
anything
of interest?”

“I don't know yet,” Joe replied. “Did you?”

“It's what I didn't find that's intriguing. Millie's purse. I don't suppose the cops turned it up?”

Joe's high forehead furrowed. “No mention of it. That
is
odd. Do you know what it looked like?”

“It was red patent leather,” Judith replied, “which is hard to miss.”

“Maybe,” Joe mused, “one of the other guests swiped it. Millie might've had a lot of cash on her.”

“That's dubious,” Judith said. “Even if it were so, the purse still has to be someplace. Unless whoever took it stashed it during one of their neighborhood strolls. I wonder . . .” She stopped, staring at the phone. “Maybe I should call Tyler Dooley.”

Joe looked bemused. “The Dooley grandson's a purse snatcher?”

“Hardly. But I'm going to call Corinne anyway to see if they were asked about selling their house. Granted, it's not in the cul-de-sac, but it's close enough to be included in what I should call this parcel of land. Tyler likes to play detective. Maybe his dog could sniff out the purse.”

“Go for it.” Joe polished off his beer. “I'm going to cut back some of the Rankerses' hedge on this side out back. It's shading some of those flowers you've got coming up across from your mother's witches' coven.”

“Good idea,” Judith murmured. But her mind wasn't on the
garden. She picked up the phone and called Corinne Dooley. After a brief exchange of neighborly inquiries, the mother of the large Dooley brood asked if there'd been some trouble at Hillside Manor. Judith was candid; Corinne was matter-of-fact.

“My, that can be unsettling,” she said. “Everything here has been fairly calm. Mary Lou fell off her unicycle and sprained her wrist this morning. Zach had his car dented rather badly up by Holliday's Drug Store this noon. Monica has hiccups that won't stop. Maybe I can get one of the other kids to scare her. It's too bad she didn't see the body in your yard. That might've done it.”

Judith never ceased to marvel at Corinne's ability to cope so calmly with her huge family's misadventures. “What I was calling about,” she explained, “is to find out if someone came by to ask if you wanted to sell your house.”

Corinne laughed. “I don't think so. Tom and Johnny ripped out the front porch today. I doubt anyone would come around to the back. It's like a land mine with all the toys out there. If we had a body in our yard, nobody would be able to find it.”