Here Comes the Bribe (8 page)

Judith didn't doubt it. “Is Tyler around, by any chance?”

“Let me think.” Corinne paused. Judith could hear the shrieking of small children in the background. “He's probably riding his bike up at the SOTS playground,” she said, using the acronym that stood for Our Lady, Star of the Sea. Do you want him to come by when he gets back?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “I may have a . . . an assignment for him.”

“Oh, that's wonderful! He does love to play detective. He wishes he could train Farley to be like a real police dog, but a mutt usually doesn't have those skills.”

“True. But Tyler makes a good sleuth. He notices things.”

“I'll admit he's observant, especially for a teenager. Both our sons were like that when you enlisted them to help with . . .” A crash could be heard in the background. “Oh, darn,” Corinne said softly. “I think the bookcase in the hall fell over. I'd better make sure nobody's under it. Bye, Judith. Nice to talk to you.”

The Dooley doyenne might have nerves of steel, but chatting with her could unsettle Judith. She gave a start when her name was called from the back hallway. Belle was languidly approaching the kitchen.

“I'm stressed,” she announced. “Everybody keeps telling me that Mom's in a better place, but the morgue doesn't sound like that to me. Do you know where I can buy some weed? Clark and I are running out.”

“They're talking about legalizing it here,” Judith replied, “but it hasn't happened yet. Try hanging out by the high school or the junior high.” For all Judith knew, the playground by the church and school might also be a good bet.

“Okay.” Belle's gaze wandered to the high kitchen ceiling. “I don't suppose you could lend me a Big Ben? Or two.”

“A what?” Judith asked, wondering if she was going deaf. Why not? Gertrude had claimed to be deaf for the past fifty years. Or so it seemed to her daughter.

Belle's eyes floated back down to gaze at her hostess. “You know—a couple of hundred dollars. For the pot. I thought Mom would have that much in her purse, but I can't find it. Do you know where it might be?”

“No,” Judith replied. “As for a loan, I don't keep cash on hand.”

“Bummer.” Belle fixed her gaze on Judith's black purse that lay near the computer. “How about a check? Are there any banks open on Saturday around here?”

“I'm not writing you a check,” Judith said firmly. “Key Largo Bank is only open Saturdays until four. It's ten after now. You're out of luck.”

“I'm out of weed,” Belle mumbled. “Maybe Clark can find an ATM. Is the bank around here somewhere?”

“It's up at the top of the hill and one block north. Are you smoking pot in your guest room?”

“Sure, where else? We like to kick back. But we keep the window open in Room Two. It's kind of small, but cozy. Except
we didn't smoke while the cops were here.” Belle shrugged. “Maybe I'll ask Dad. He's finally able to go back to his own room, but he's taking another nap in ours. I asked that older guy about Dad using his own pad and he said it was okay.”

“What older guy?” Judith inquired.

“The one who was helping you make breakfast. I saw him in the hall when I went to the can.”

“That's my husband,” Judith said. “He's a retired police detective.”

“Oh, darn!” Belle looked stricken. “Will he bust us for smoking weed while we stay here?”

“Probably not. He's got more important things to do right now,” Judith added, though she wondered exactly what Joe was doing up on the third floor. Maybe he was checking backgrounds on the guests or talking to Woody on the phone. At least she hoped he was doing something to advance the murder investigation. Before she could say anything more to Belle, the nonbride wandered back down the hall.

Twenty minutes later, Tyler Dooley—and his dog, Farley—showed up on the front porch. Tyler's eager, round face lit up when he saw Judith. “Granny tells me you want me on the case. I heard you had another murder. That's amazing!”

“I wouldn't put it that way, exactly,” Judith said, though Tyler's enthusiasm heartened her. After all, it was best not to dwell on the grimmer aspects of the tragedy. “Come in so I can tell you what happened.”

Tyler hesitated. “Is it okay if Farley comes, too?”

“Sure,” Judith said. “He's well behaved.” She led the way back to the kitchen. It took her at least five minutes to recount the events, describe the people involved, and tell him what had transpired since the murder.

“Wow!” Tyler said softly when she finished. “This is all kind of confusing. But the scam idea to buy up the houses around here is the bottom line, right?”

“That appears to be so,” Judith agreed. “I don't see what else could be their reason for this whole charade.”

Tyler looked thoughtful. “This could be my last case,” he said wistfully. “I'm starting college in the fall over at State U. That should be a real adventure, too.” He glanced down at Farley and scratched the dog's head. “I'll miss this guy, though. So what's my first job? Surveillance?”

“You can do that anytime,” Judith replied. “For now, I want you to look for Mrs. Schmuck's missing purse.”

Tyler rubbed his chin. “Hmm. Any chance I could get a scent off of something that belonged to her? That'd help Farley.”

“I'm not sure if Mr. Schmuck—Rodney—is back in his room. Let me check, okay?”

“Sure. I'll go out in the yard and study the crime scene.” Tyler stood up. “Come on, Farley, let's go.”

Upstairs, Judith noticed the yellow warning tape was gone from outside of Room One. There was no response when she knocked on the door. Cautiously, she stepped inside. Rodney apparently was still snoozing in Room Two, the smallest of the accommodations. Maybe Belle and Clark could put up with being so crowded only by smoking pot. Judith almost didn't blame them.

The crimson kimono was hanging in the closet. Judith slipped it off the hanger and went back downstairs just as Tyler and Farley came back inside. “This should do the trick,” she said.

Farley sniffed tentatively at the shiny fabric. Tyler waited until he was sure the dog had taken in the scent. “Okay,” he said. “We might as well start the search. It's clouding over so it might rain. Anyway, dinner's going to be late tonight. I think the stove broke. Again.”

Judith didn't doubt it. If ever a stove was overworked, it'd belong to the Dooleys. If ever a mother and grandmother was overworked, it'd be Corinne. But she seemed to thrive on meeting her family's needs. Judith wished her own much smaller family was closer. But at least she had other diversions.

Once again, there was murder on her mind.

J
oe wasn't pleased to learn that Tyler was on the case. “The Dooley grandson's just a kid,” he said, pouring drinks for Judith and himself. “It's bad enough that you keep putting yourself in harm's way, but I like it even less when you get a teenager mixed up in your crazy sleuthing.”

Judith felt defensive. “You have to admit I've helped bring a few killers to justice.”

“And damned near gotten yourself killed in the process,” Joe reminded her. “Hey—don't you want us to be together into our dotage? What about that train trip back east we mentioned the other day?”

“I could forget about sleuthing, mind my own business, and get hit by a bus,” Judith declared.

Joe smirked. “It'd probably be driven by the killer who was using it to get away from you.”

“I don't want to argue anymore.” Judith opened the oven. “It upsets me. I already grilled Mother's salmon first in case the guests actually show up for the cocktail hour. If she had to wait past six, she'd really be cranky. I'll take her meal out to her while you watch the rest of the food. And make sure the guests don't steal the silver. You are, after all, a private eye.”

She hadn't bothered to put on a sweater before she left the
house. Grimacing at the spot by the birdbath where Millie's body had been found, Judith felt the first drops of rain. She kept going, being a typical native and undaunted by the drizzle.

Gertrude was watching a baseball game. “No score,” she announced. “Our starting pitcher is still scratching himself in places I won't mention. They're saying it might rain. So what? They always say that.” She looked at the plate Judith had set down on the crowded card table. “Is this some unnatural species Dopey caught in Australia?”

“It's salmon from Alaska,” Judith replied. “Could you shift some of your items so that there's room for the silverware?”

“I might be able to do that,” the old lady replied. “I'm kind of crippled, you know.” As if to prove it, she fumbled with the newspapers on the card table and sent them sailing onto the floor. “Now see what you made me do! I don't suppose you can bend over with your phony hip to pick them up.”

Judith didn't answer. She was too stunned by the sight of what looked like a red patent leather strap peeking out from under the clutter. Hurriedly, she picked up a jumble puzzle book and the
TV Guide
. “That's Millie's purse!” she cried. “Where did you find it?”

“I didn't,” Gertrude replied indignantly. “Sweetums was mauling it under the hydrangea by the garage this morning. Who's Millie?”

“The woman who was killed.” Judith hesitated before touching the strap. But she realized that any fingerprints probably would be smudged by now. “I've got to give this to the police. They wondered why it wasn't found along with her other belongings.”

Gertrude seemed disgusted. “There's not much in it. She only had about thirty dollars in her coin purse. I guess robbery wasn't the motive. She didn't even carry around a deck of cards like I always do. Are you sure she didn't die of boredom?”

“Some people aren't as keen on playing cards as you are, Mother,” Judith said. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Ha! From the looks of this salmon, it wasn't caught, it was executed. How can you ruin a perfectly good piece of fish?”

Judith ignored the criticism. As she left the toolshed, she saw Sweetums sitting by the birdbath. She paused to stare at the cat. “If only,” she said out loud, “you could talk, you'd be a good witness.”

Sweetums responded by swinging his big orange plume of a tail and licking one of his paws.

W
hat the hell . . .” Joe began when Judith came back inside. But he stopped and waited for her to enter the kitchen. Voices could be heard from the living room. “The guests did come down for the social hour,” he said quietly. “Is that Millie's purse?”

“It must be,” Judith replied, sitting down and opening the clasp. She removed a faux-leather packet to reveal credit cards and a local driver's license. “Her address is a street I don't recognize, but the zip code is in the north end. Is Rodney's license a phony?”

“Maybe,” Joe allowed. “Or they could've recently moved here. What's the issue date on Millie's license?”

“March thirtieth of this year,” Judith replied, “which is also her birthday. They
could
have moved here recently from California. A lot of people do that these days.”

“Woody will check out the license Rodney showed you, of course,” Joe murmured. “Are you joining the guests for the social hour?”

Judith shook her head. “No. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I want to eat before the salmon gets dried out. Let's do it.”

By some sort of minor miracle, the Flynns managed to get through dinner without discussing the murder case. But as soon as the table was cleared, Judith resumed her search of Millie's purse. She found a folded sheet of typewritten paper in a side pocket. Expecting something semisensational, she was disappointed.

“This is only a list of . . . I'm not sure what it is,” Judith said,
still keeping her voice down. The guests were still in the living room. “Take a look. Could it be medications?”

Joe studied the dozen unfamiliar words. “Temodar? It sounds like a title of some Mideastern potentate. Beats me.” He handed the piece of paper back to Judith.

“I'll look up some of these on the computer later.” She craned her neck to hear what was going on with the guests. “I think they're taking off for dinner. I hope they come back earlier than they did last night. Wondering about their return gave me minor nightmares. Of course what really happened this morning was much worse.”

Joe didn't argue.

A
little after seven, Judith called Renie to explain about finding Millie's purse and the list of exotic words. “I tried checking them out on the Internet,” she went on, “but all I could find were warnings about side effects including everything but having your arms and legs fall off.”

“The suits,” Renie said. “Pharmaceutical-company lawyers are more concerned about being dragged into court than they are about helping patients.”

“Being so breezy about it doesn't help me, coz,” Judith admonished. “I could use a little empathy here.”

“It's after hours,” Renie said. “Bill and I are about to shut down our brains and watch mindless TV. Unless somebody else gets killed at your place tonight, do not disturb us.”

“That's fine,” Judith retorted. “I've got Tyler Dooley on the case.” She sucked in her breath. “Oh, dear—I should tell him the purse has been found. Otherwise, his poor dog will end up trying to follow the scent to the toolshed and then into the house.”

“Don't spoil the kid's fun—or Barley's. It gives them both something to do besides try to find sleeping space in the Dooley house.”

“They have beds. Well, cots, anyway. Or sleeping bags. And it's Farley, not Barley.”

“Whatever,” Renie said airily. “Got to go watch some dumb movie I'll hate. Try not to let anybody kill you during the night. I'll see you in church.”

Judith dialed the Dooleys' number. Someone other than Corinne answered. “Is Mrs. Dooley there?” she asked.

“Which one?” the youthful voice replied. “We got at least five of them.”

“Never mind,” Judith said. “Just tell Tyler that the purse has been found. I'll talk to him tomorrow. Or after Mass.”

“Got it,” the voice responded—and hung up.

T
he Schmuck entourage came back from dinner shortly after eight thirty. Feeling faintly guilty about her negative attitude toward the current guests, Judith got up from the living room sofa to greet the last trio of the group—Dr. Sophie and husband, Clayton, with a subdued Rodney in tow.

“Your cabdrivers take too many chances,” Dr. Sophie declared. “Are they all Ethiopians? Don't they have real streets in Addis Ababa?”

“I'm sure they do,” Judith said. “It's a huge city.”

Clayton woefully shook his head. “I'll blog tomorrow about dangerous drivers. Especially the ones who take the wheel in a taxi. My nerves are shredded.”

Judith didn't offer him any sympathy. Instead, she turned to Rodney, whose pallor worried her. “Are you feeling any better this evening?”

“Kind of,” he replied. “Before dinner, I had a bit of the hair of the dog, as they say. But not too much. I'm still worn out. Dang, Mama, but all this stuff with Millie has upset your little boy. You and me are gonna have a little talk first thing tomorrow, okay?”

Judith's compassion took a hit. “That's fine, but I won't be able
to do that until after I get home from church around eleven thirty. Of course, breakfast will be served as usual.”

“Haven't got much appetite,” Rodney muttered, clutching the banister as he followed his companions upstairs. “G'night, Mama.”

Judith returned to the living room. Joe looked up from the spy novel he'd been reading. “I heard that,” he remarked with a grin. “
I
should be disturbed. Rodney doesn't claim that I'm his father.”

Judith sat down opposite her husband. “I thought maybe he'd given up on that ‘Mama' part of their game. But the worrisome thing is how dreadful he looks. I wonder if he didn't drink some of the same juice Millie did.”

Joe grew serious. “We don't know it was the juice, do we?”

“Well . . .” Judith's dark eyes were fixed on Joe's face. “Do you have a reason to believe otherwise?”

“We can't assume the juice contained the poison,” Joe replied in his usual mellow, reasonable tone. “The autopsy results may indicate that's how the lethal stuff was ingested. But Woody won't have that information until at least Tuesday or Wednesday. Millie's death probably isn't the only suspicious one that will have happened over the weekend in a city this large. Keep in mind that a lot of relatives of people who apparently die of natural causes request an autopsy. That's becoming more common because of genetics and the need to know your immediate relatives' medical history. Of course, that's not a problem for you, because your mother will never die.”

“Joe!” But Judith didn't want to get diverted from the original subject. “Is it possible that any of those drugs on that list I found in Millie's purse could have killed her?”

“Of course,” Joe said. “But where are those meds? The cops didn't find any prescription drugs. Of course the killer may have disposed of whatever was used.”

Judith's wide shoulders slumped. “I feel silly. I've been considering that Millie was poisoned by whatever must've been in the juice. I guess that was stupid of me.”

Joe shrugged. “No, it was a logical conclusion. And God knows you're a logical person. But it's probably not what happened.”

“Maybe,” Judith said, “I should have stuck to my vow not to sleuth anymore. I think I've lost my knack.”

Joe laughed. “You got sidetracked. You always have gone about solving cases by trying on one idea, finding out it's wrong, discarding it, and then moving on. It's sort of the way you buy your clothes.”

Judith narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Are you discouraging or encouraging me?”

“Neither one,” Joe asserted. “I know you, Jude-girl. You're going to do exactly what you want.”

Judith didn't say anything for a long moment. “Maybe,” she finally murmured, “I followed the wrong trail because that's what the killer wanted me—and the police—to do. What does Woody think?”

“Early days,” Joe said. “You know Woody. He keeps his own counsel. He probably won't speak out until he gets the autopsy results.”

“So what do we do about the guests? We can't keep them here under wraps.”

Joe stretched and yawned as the grandfather clock struck nine. “You seem to think they actually live in the area. Let them check out Monday morning. It's too bad you didn't take a picture of Rodney's driver's license. I don't suppose you noticed if it had expired.”

“I didn't.” Judith was sinking into unaccustomed gloom, her eyes focused on the Persian carpet under the coffee table. She suddenly lifted her head and fixed Joe with a hard stare. “Go upstairs and ask Rodney for the damned license. Then you can see for yourself.”

“No thanks,” he replied. “Dealing with guests is your job, not mine. Except for making their breakfast, of course. Talk to him in
the morning. He's probably already asleep. Rodney looked dead on his feet.”

The description made Judith shiver.

A
s tired as she felt, Judith had trouble getting to sleep. Around midnight, she got out of bed and went into the den, where she called her cousin. Bill Jones went to bed around ten thirty, but his wife stayed up much later, often until going on 1
A.M
. Renie swore that the later it got, the more creative she became.

“Is your house on fire—again?” she asked instead of saying hello.

“No,” Judith said glumly. “Let me explain why I'm an idiot.”

“I've known that since I was six,” Renie shot back. “You couldn't play Monopoly with me because you couldn't read any of the cards. I had to wait a couple of years until you got to kindergarten.”

“That was then, this is now,” Judith said, mildly annoyed. “Although mentioning Monopoly is appropriate in regard to the Schmuck bunch. They seem to be all about real estate. Meanwhile, I realized tonight that I went off on a tangent.”

“Not one of those 1961 Tangents. They ran backward, you know.”

“Coz . . . don't joke. It's late, I'm tired and frustrated. Let me pass on what Joe said about the poison source.”

“Okay,” Renie responded. “I'll assume my professional mien and hear you out.”