Here Comes the Bribe (9 page)

Judith unloaded. “Be honest,” she added after finishing her spiel. “Am I getting too old to sleuth?”

“You're too old to run very fast from a killer,” Renie said, “but you can still think just fine. So you got off on the wrong track. So did the cops if they thought the poison might've been in the juice. In retrospect, that was probably the wrong reaction. Millie
probably wasn't the only one to drink whatever was on the table. Nobody else got sick, did they?”

“Rodney still isn't feeling very good,” Judith pointed out, “but he drank a lot yesterday and probably the night before. Heck, he could even have flu. It goes around in good as well as bad weather.”

“Don't I know it,” Renie agreed. “I had it for three days last June.”

“Speaking of being sick,” Judith said, “I found a list of about twenty drugs I've never heard of in Millie's purse. Why would she be carrying something like that around with her?”

“For her alleged project? Maybe she planned to open a health spa.”

The idea made some sense to Judith. “I'll ask Belle about that tomorrow. She must know. She might've been involved in the project.” She winced, thinking of Millie's plans. Whatever was in the works, getting murdered hadn't been on the agenda.

O
n Sunday morning, Judith felt as if she were operating in a fog instead of the off-and-on rain that spattered the kitchen window. The guests seemed subdued. Reverend Kindred and his wife, Elsie, had been the first to come into the dining room. He'd asked if he could hold a prayer service in the parlor after breakfast. Judith told him she thought that would be . . . nice. She couldn't think of a better word.

Joe, however, was chipper. “I slept like a log,” he told Judith. “You shouldn't get yourself all worked up over this latest disaster. You should be used to mayhem by now.”

“I'm used to mayhem,” Judith responded, “but how do you get used to murder? Even I can't do that.”

“I did,” Joe said. “I had to, working as a homicide detective. Woody and I both developed the skill of treating dead people as part of the human condition as well as part of the evidence. If we hadn't, we'd never have been able to solve our cases.”

Judith didn't comment. She tried to smile when she brought the various breakfast items out to the dining room, but didn't engage the guests in conversation. She noted that Belle and Clark were the last to arrive, straggling in just as the reverend and his wife were almost finished. Judith overheard him tell the young
couple that they might want to join the rest of the group for prayers. Belle rejected the invitation.

“What good will praying do for Mom?” she demanded. “If prayers didn't help her stay alive, they won't be of any use now.”

“That's not the point,” Elsie Kindred declared. “They're for the rest of us to know that our only help is with the Lord.”

Belle laughed. “Hey, Nerd,” she said to Clark, “I don't think the Lord can help
us
. We need help to find where we can get some more weed. Let's hit the stores on the top of the hill. There's got to be someplace that does pot business on the side.”

Judith and Joe had overheard the conversation. “If,” he murmured, “they have to go looking for pot, we can rule out drugs as part of the Schmuck scheme.”

“I suppose,” Judith said. “I'm going to ask Belle about Millie's project. I doubt it had anything to do with drugs, though I can't figure out why Millie carried around a list of meds I didn't even recognize. Maybe she planned to do something in the health field. For all we know, she may've had a medical background.”

Joe chuckled. “Or she was a hypochondriac and knew a lot of doctors. The Schmucks brought one with them, after all.” He glanced in the direction of the dining room. “I'll check Rodney's driver's license before we go to church. I can try one of your devious stunts and ask if he has a favorite photo of Millie in his wallet.”

“As if,” Judith sniffed, “you didn't have enough tricks of your own as a cop. I'll do it. Did you forget you don't like dealing with the guests?”

Joe shrugged. “You're right. They're all yours.”

She had her chance when Rodney ambled into the kitchen fifteen minutes later. “Hey, Mama,” he said, “any chance I can cadge a beer? It help settles my stomach.”

“I've got some better remedies than that,” she replied. “How about Mylanta?”

Rodney looked dubious. “Can you pour it in the beer?”

Judith refrained from rolling her eyes. “You don't need beer
at nine thirty in the morning. Frankly, Rodney, you need to take care of yourself, especially now that poor Millie is gone. Would your prefer the Mylanta in liquid or tablet form?”

“Awww . . .” Rodney turned sheepish. “You're a good mother, Mama. Why weren't you around when I was growin' up?”

It wasn't easy for Judith to hold on to her patience, but she did it. “Sit down,” she said, indicating a kitchen chair and realizing Joe had gone upstairs to change into his churchgoing clothes. “Let me get you a couple of the chewable tablets from the drawer. You must be overcome with grief, but drinking too much won't make it go away.”

“It kinda does,” Rodney murmured. “At least for a little while.” He held out his hand for the tablets. “Okay, I'll do this cold turkey.”

Judith sat down at the table and waited for him to swallow the meds. She decided to skip the ruse for looking at Rodney's wallet and cut to the chase. “Where did you get that California driver's license?”

“In California,” Rodney replied with a flicker of indignation.

“Is it valid?”

“It was,” he mumbled. “It expired at the end of March.”

“Have you been driving with it?”

“Mama . . .” Rodney's expression was reproachful. “I'd never do that.”

Judith smiled. “That's reassuring. So how do you get around?”

Rodney turned away. “Well . . . I have another driver's license. For this state.”

“Is that because you actually live here?”

He grimaced. “We do now. I mean . . .” Rodney had turned back to look at Judith. “That is,
I
do now. Poor Millie doesn't.”

“So you moved here recently,” Judith said.

He nodded. “Earlier this month. I was born here, of course. Heck, you know
that,
Mama. But I moved to L.A. a long time ago. I had kind of a rough childhood without you.”

Judith opened her mouth to insist that Rodney stop pretending
she was his mother. But it occurred to her that maybe he really believed it. Rodney wasn't the first person she'd met who was delusional. After all, Renie and Bill insisted that Oscar, their stuffed ape, was real. Or so they claimed. Judith decided to shift the subject away from Rodney's youth.

“Do any of the other guests actually live in L.A.?”

“They all do,” Rodney replied. “They're old friends of ours.” His pallor took on a touch of pink. “It might sound dumb, but I thought it'd make more of a splash around here if Millie and I were still living in L.A., too. It does have what do you call it? Something like pancake, except in French.”

“Panache?” Judith suggested.

“Yeah, right. That's the word.” He hung his head. “Maybe that wasn't a good idea. I mean, it seems kinda silly now.”

Judith glanced at the schoolhouse clock and stood up. “I'm leaving for church. I'm glad you told me the truth. That is, I was really confused about certain things. It made me uneasy.”

Rodney had also gotten to his feet. “Hey, I couldn't go on lying to you, Mama. I always felt you'd give me a bad time if I did. I mean, I knew you were the kind of person who'd teach me about honesty being the best policy. If you'd been there to raise me, that is.” He started back to the dining room, but stopped. “We got our own prayer stuff to do. I wonder if Georgie will pass the hat. Oh, well.” He pushed open the swinging half doors and left the kitchen.

Judith hurriedly changed clothes up in the third-floor family quarters. She'd met Joe coming down. He told her he'd be waiting in the Subaru. He sounded a bit melancholy, no doubt because the MG was out of commission.

On the way up the hill to church, Judith told him about Rodney.

Joe wasn't particularly sympathetic. “The guy's probably an alcoholic. His brain may've gotten fried from booze a long time ago. All his pals may enable him, including the reverend. Rodney
seems to have money from somewhere. Woody will check into that.”

By chance—or bad luck—just after Joe pulled in to park on the parish school's playground, Norma and Wilbur Paine's imposing black Chrysler glided in next to the aging Subaru. The Paines' car always reminded Judith of a hearse. Norma's equally imposing body erupted from the passenger side.

“Judith!” she called. “What's going on? We haven't heard from your Realtor guests. Are they not diligent?”

“It's a long story,” Judith replied, realizing that the Paines didn't know about the latest Hillside Manor disaster. “For one thing, Mr. Schmuck's not feeling very well.”

“Well!” Norma joined Judith while the husbands took up the rear. “Maybe we wouldn't want sickly agents representing us. This Schmuck's problem isn't serious, I trust?”

“No,” Judith replied. “But you have to do what's best for your situation. You know there are some fine real estate firms that are well acquainted with properties around here. As you may know, Cathy Rankers works for one of them.”

Norma made a face. “I'd rather not deal with Cathy. You of all people know what Arlene's like. She's terribly opinionated.”

If anyone could give Arlene a run for her opinions, it was Norma. A vision of pot and kettle danced in Judith's mind's eye. But she merely shrugged. “I thought you might want to deal with someone you already knew, especially a fellow parishioner.”

“I think not,” Norma said with a faint sniff of disapproval as they entered the vestibule. “It's not wise to do business with people you know. They take advantage. Indeed, consider what happened when I asked you to host the dinner for us that . . .” She stopped abruptly, seeing Carl and Arlene chatting with two of the adult Dooleys. “Come, Wilbur,” Norma said, grabbing her husband's sleeve. “Let's find a place to sit that isn't near any of those dreadful Dooley children. They're such a nuisance.”

Joe was smiling wryly. “Poor Wilbur. Why hasn't he strangled
that woman? Or at least told her to put a sock in it. He's the poster boy for the henpecked husband.”

Judith didn't comment. She spotted Renie and Bill sitting on the opposite side of the church. Coming from the hill's north slope, they always parked in the smaller lot by the rectory. Bill, as usual, was staring straight ahead, no doubt meditating, as was his custom. Renie, of course, was darting her eyes in every direction, probably trying to decide who was the least worst-dressed among her female fellow parishioners. She spotted the Flynns and offered them a small wave.

The organ played and the procession processed. As was often the case, Judith's mind occasionally wandered from the liturgy. But she did pray for the repose of Millie's soul and for Rodney to recover from whatever ailed him, even if it came out of a bottle. She also listened to Father Hoyle's sermon. The tall, chisel-featured, white-haired pastor always imparted something worth hearing.

At the sign of peace, Judith put on her friendliest smile to shake hands with the people nearby. When she turned around, she was startled to see Agnes Crump.

“I'm Catholic,” Agnes murmured, giving Judith's hand a limp shake. “Charlie's not.”

“Oh.” It was the only thing Judith could say as the liturgy resumed. When Mass was over, she noticed that Mrs. Crump had already slipped away.

Joe hadn't seen the visitor. “I got caught up watching some of the Dooley kids across the aisle pummeling each other during the peace exchange. Agnes must've walked up to church. Maybe we can find her and offer a ride.”

“There's something kind of pathetic about Agnes,” Judith said after they were in the car. “As I recall, she and Charlie are actually friends with Clark Stone's father, though she did work as a legal secretary for Stuart Wicks. I wonder if Agnes and the Wickses are close. They're certainly different types of personalities.”

“I don't see Agnes anywhere,” Joe remarked after they pulled out of the parking lot. “Maybe she thought she could go straight down from the church to our house. I assume Agnes came up the hill via Heraldsgate Avenue since they must've arrived at the B&B that way. She'd have no way of knowing that the street by the church doesn't go all the way through because of the park.”

“She can't get too lost,” Judith said, also scanning their route. “Though some of the streets around here are oddly numbered.”

Joe had turned onto the Avenue. “Agnes Crump's not a naive kid off the farm, she's a middle-aged woman from L.A. and a legal secretary. What does Charlie do for a living?”

Judith frowned. “Agnes said he did insurance work at home. His own agency, I gathered. I wonder if Cynthia and Stuart Wicks will leave for L.A. tomorrow. Or will Woody insist they stay close by?”

Joe shot Judith a quick glance. “You want me to bug my old buddy on the Sabbath? The Prices are Methodists. They probably won't get home from church until after noon. You know how Protestant services go on and on. Besides, Sondra teaches Sunday school and Woody spends time after church arranging food baskets for the poor and the infirm.”

“Stop!” Judith cried. “Now I feel like I'm shirking my Christian duties. At least you work on some of the church and school repairs.”

“Not if I can get out of it,” Joe said, turning off the Avenue to head for Hillside Manor. “My back, you know.”

“Your back? What's wrong with your back?”

“I have one. It could go out at my age. No heavy lifting.”

Judith curled her lip at Joe. “You're a bit of a con man. You always were, in some ways.”

“It's an inherent part of my good cop/bad cop persona,” Joe declared. “While I was on the job I needed to con the occasional con to get a
con
fession.”

Judith shot him a withering look and didn't speak again until they arrived at Hillside Manor.

G
ertrude had just exited the toolshed. “Well!” she called to Judith. “Are you two coming or going or do you know the difference?”

“We've been to church, Mother,” Judith replied. “It's Sunday.”

“It is?” Gertrude feigned surprise. “One day's the same as another when you're my age. Just one step closer to the grave.”

“How close?” Joe asked in an eager voice.

Gertrude sneered at her son-in-law. “Not close enough to suit you, Lunkhead. I'm going into the house to get my meager lunch.”

She revved up the wheelchair and sailed off to the back porch's ramp.

Joe poked Judith's upper arm. “I think I'll wash your car. Talking to your ghastly mother tends to warp my post-Mass Christian goodwill. If you need me, I'll be hiding in the garage.”