Gone With the Win: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery (12 page)

Ida cast a disparaging glance at Judith. “Well, if she’s so smart, maybe she can find out who killed Opalooftooms or whoever. Nice to meet you,” she added brusquely, dragging Jane by the arm.

“Gee,” Renie said as the women left, “I kind of hope Ida did it.”

Judith didn’t say anything. To her dismay, she realized that she had no viable suspects. Anybody could have killed Opal, including someone they’d already seen in the Thurlow District.

Chapter 10

J
udith removed Woody’s case notes from her handbag. “I recall seeing the Bradfords’ names on his list from canvassing the neighbors, but I didn’t have time to see what Woody wrote about them.”

Crissy appeared with their order. “I added some brown rice and our homemade Barbari bread,” she said. “It’s really good. The owner, Mr. Alipur, makes it himself.”

“My,” Judith enthused, “I’ve heard about it. A friend of mine was here on Wednesday and she told me it was out of this world.”

“So’s my cousin,” Renie said under her breath.

Seeing Crissy stare at Renie with a puzzled expression, Judith quickly intervened. “She means my homemade bread is out of this world, too. But it’s a French bread I make, nothing at all like this. As Ruby mentioned, this bread has such a golden glow to it. What’s the secret?”

“The dough is made of cornmeal,” Crissy replied, “and the sauce—kind of a glaze—is made of more cornmeal, baking soda, and water. Really simple.”

“So’s my cousin,” Renie murmured again.

“Yes,” Judith responded with a kick at Renie’s legs. “I do something like that, except it’s a bit . . . different. Were you here Wednesday?”

“Only for lunch,” the waitress replied. “We don’t do breakfasts.”

“Maybe you waited on Ruby,” Judith said, relaxing a bit as Renie began attacking the kebabs. “She came in alone, but a man joined her.”

Crissy’s cheerful expression faltered. “Um . . . is she a blonde?”

“Yes, in her thirties.”

“I didn’t wait on her,” Crissy said. “Julie did. She’s not here today. Is your friend . . . okay?”

Judith looked surprised. “Yes, she’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well . . .” Crissy looked around, as if making sure no one could hear her. “Julie thought your friend was sick,” she continued, lowering her voice. “In fact, she acted like she’d been drinking. Slurred speech, wobbly, spilling stuff, disoriented.”

Judith evinced confusion. “How odd! Maybe she was upset. It was someone she hadn’t seen in a while. I think his name was Jim.”

“Jim?” Crissy thought for a moment. “I don’t really know, but I’ve seen him here before. He usually eats by himself and writes in his notebook. We don’t have Wi-Fi.”

“Oh, of course!” Judith said with a big smile. “Ruby has talked about him. His last name is . . .” She frowned. “I forget.”

Crissy hesitated. “Well . . . it’s kind of different. Fiddler, maybe, or something to do with music. Your friend would know.”

Judith nodded. “Of course. Has he been in since then?”

“I don’t know,” Crissy said, obviously getting anxious to move on. “I didn’t work yesterday or Thursday. Excuse me, I’ve got an order up.”

Judith leaned closer to Renie. “Can’t you at least shut up when I’m interviewing someone?”

Renie brushed rice from her olive-green sweater. “Sorry, but I had this peculiar idea you’d retired from sleuthing. Yes, I know what you had in mind when we came here, but when you started in on that poor waitress, my brain misfired. Call me crazy, but in the past when we’ve done this sort of thing, we often end up being almost dead.”

“We aren’t, though,” Judith said indignantly. “Dead, I mean.”

“What are the odds that our luck could run out?” Renie asked, looking quite serious.

Judith shrugged. “We aren’t getting out of this life alive.”

“I mean before our time.”

“Okay, so we don’t take chances anymore. And speaking of chance, that makes me think of odds, as in betting. I wonder if Uncle Al knows a Fiddler from the racetrack.”

Renie rolled her eyes. “I’ll pass on making a lame joke about that. Go ahead, ask Uncle Al.”

“I will,” Judith said. “But first we have to check out the bars.”

Renie held her head. “Oh, no! We’re going to drink our way through the rest of the afternoon?”

“Of course not. By the way, one of your elbows is in your rice pilaf.”

“Oh!” Renie stopped holding her head and examined her elbows. “Damn! I just got this back from the cleaners. It’s cashmere.”

“Why bother? Your elbow matches your chest. You’ve still got rice there, too.”

Renie made a snarling noise in her throat. “I should bring my tiny hand vacuum with me.”

“You should bring a trough.” Judith kept quiet for at least a full minute, savoring the kebabs and the bread. “The food here is really very good. I still don’t see Mr. Alipur back in the kitchen area.”

“You already told me he wasn’t helpful,” Renie reminded her cousin. “It’s three o’clock. How are you going to interview alleged witnesses or suspects or complete strangers who might have once said hello to Opal Tooms and still get home in time to welcome new guests?”

“I have a couple checking in this afternoon and their flight from Chicago doesn’t arrive until around six. I’ve got some frozen appetizers I keep on hand for emergencies like this.”

“This is an emergency?”

“You know what I mean.” Judith proceeded to polish off her kebab. I wouldn’t mind having the recipe for that bread. It’s delicious.”

“In other words, you have an excuse to call Mr. Alipur at a more convenient time. Like when he’s here.”

“Well . . . yes, of course.”

“I’m done,” Renie said, standing up. “I’m going outside to make a phone call.” Before Judith could finish chewing a bite of bread, Renie was halfway to the door. Scanning Woody’s notes, Judith found the Bradford comments.
Called OT pleasant woman . . . didn’t know her well . . . kids played loud music sometimes . . . quiet otherwise . . . noticed male visitor occasionally, not Mr. Tooms . . . didn’t recall seeing Mr. T for some time . . . day of murder Mrs. B home waiting for plumber, didn’t hear or see anything unusual at OT’s house . . . Mr. B volunteering that afternoon at their church.
Judith tucked the notes back in her handbag just before Crissy appeared with the bill.

Judith took out her credit card. “I run a B&B and I’d love to talk to Mr. Alipur about the Barbari bread. Is he here now?”

“He doesn’t come in Saturdays,” Crissy replied. “The best time to call is when he first arrives during the week, say around ten-thirty.”

“Thanks.” Judith added a tip and signed off on the card. “You might mention that I’ll be giving him a ring Monday.”

“Sure,” Crissy said. “Have a nice day.”

Renie was still outside, leaning against the café window. “When,” she asked, “was the last time you made bread?”

“Never,” Judith said. “I had to fib. You stiffed me for the bill. Who were you calling?”

“I’ll pay next time,” Renie said as they headed for the far corner. “I called Uncle Al. I figured I’d save you the trouble. Besides, he got free tickets for Bill and Joe to join him at the University’s first conference basketball game. I forgot to tell you that.”

“That’s great,” Judith said. “Has Uncle Al ever heard of someone named Fiddler?”

Renie shook her head. “He knows a guy named Mandolini, though. Uncle Al played basketball with him. The grandson is part owner of a horse that’s running at Santa Anita this weekend in the Breeders Cup.”

“That’s . . . probably not much help.”

“Uncle Al couldn’t remember the other two owners,” Renie said as they stopped to wait for traffic before crossing the street, “but he did say one of them was a foreign guy who owns a restaurant around here. Oh—the horse’s name is Ali’s Purchase. Work that out for yourself.”

J
udith didn’t respond until they’d crossed the street and were heading in the direction of O’Reilly’s Pub. “I should jump to some weird conclusion, but coincidences
do
exist,” she finally said, pushing open the pub’s door. “Maybe this stop is a waste of time. This used to be the site of an old dump named Spooner’s Schooners. Oh, well—we’re here.”

“Why?” Renie asked, following Judith inside.

“Because we’re going to have a drink. Our old customers may’ve gravitated to this place.” Judith headed for the nearest small table. Much of the bar was filled with men who were watching the Notre Dame football team thrash Tennessee on the big TV at the end of the room. A chubby middle-aged waitress who walked as if her feet hurt approached the cousins.

“Menus?” she asked, smiling faintly.

Renie declined, but asked for a glass of sherry. Judith said she’d have the same. The waitress made her weary way back to the bar’s serving area.

“She looks familiar,” Judith murmured to Renie. “Subtract twenty years and thirty pounds.”

“I don’t do math,” Renie replied with a sneer. “I’m an
artiste
.”

“Then do a visual, Madame Renie-oir.”

But her cousin only shrugged.
“Rien.”

“You got zip?” Judith sighed. “Then I must know her from somewhere around here.”

“Since she’s here
now,
it’s likely she was here
then
.”

“Be quiet. Here she comes with the sherry.” Judith put on her friendliest smile. “Say, don’t I know you from the old Meat & Mingle?”

The waitress looked surprised. “You do? Oh, my! I thought I recognized you. Willie and I started this pub back in ’98. Didn’t you tend bar there? I’m Annie O’Reilly. You’re . . . ?”

Judith introduced herself and Renie. “My first husband and I owned the café. I remarried after he died.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Annie said. “Back then I worked as a cook at Peebles Place. I usually do the cooking here, but our regular waitress has bronchitis.”

“What a coincidence!” Judith exclaimed. “You must’ve known Opal Tooms, the poor woman who was murdered not long after I moved from the Thurlow District.”

Annie’s plump face darkened. “That was a terrible thing. I don’t think the cops ever found out who killed her. Or at least they couldn’t prove it.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Too bad they never asked me. I had some ideas of my own.”

“You did?” Judith responded. “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“Willie told me to keep my mouth shut,” Annie replied. “He thought it’d be dangerous in more ways than one, given who I thought it was who done it. I needed to keep working there to save up enough money to start this pub.” She suddenly straightened up. “You knew Opal?”

“No,” Judith said. “I met her daughter recently when Serena and I were on a trip.”

Annie frowned. “I never knew Opal’s kids. A son, too, right?”

Judith nodded. “It’s not too late to go to the police, you know.”

“Yes, it is,” Annie asserted. “The person I think did it is long gone.”

Renie stared at Annie. “As in dead?”

The waitress shrugged as a roar went up from the Fighting Irish fans. “Might as well be. The funny thing is that the other day a man came in here with a woman who . . .” Her gaze veered to the football fans. “Excuse me. I’d better bring another round for old Notre Dame.” She ambled off to the cheering drinkers.

Judith checked her watch. “Time marches on along with the Notre Dame band. Polish off your sherry. Next stop is the racetrack.”

“The racetrack?”
Renie practically shrieked.

“Shhh,” Judith warned. “Some people are staring. Yes . . . it’s only ten minutes from here. Don’t you remember how Dan would often go there to place a bet on a horse that usually came in last?”

“I was
trying
to forget,” Renie said. “I figured you’d want to see the Tooms house and maybe your old dump. I mean—”

“We can drive by the Tooms house, but I don’t want to see our former so-called home. It’s enough off the beaten track that I doubt it’s been improved. In fact, it may have fallen down.”

“It was leaning that way,” Renie said. “Literally. Gosh, all those rats that ran up inside the walls must’ve been displaced.”

Judith shuddered. “Not to mention the hookers that plied their trade on the main thoroughfare in front of the house. You’re paying. You fleeced me for lunch.”

“Okay.” Renie took out a twenty and left it on the table. Catching Annie’s eye, she made an okay sign with her thumb and index finger before following Judith out the door. “You do realize they don’t have live racing this time of the year at Greenacres, don’t you?”

“Of course. But serious track rats go to watch the simulcasts and place bets. Uncle Al does that quite often. You said it was the Breeders Cup. Maybe the trainer on Ruby’s list—Jorge Gonzales—will be there.”

“He’s a suspect?” Renie asked as they made way for a couple pushing twins in an elaborate stroller.

“No,” Judith replied. “I think he was Duke Swisher’s alibi. Heck, Duke might be there, too. I’d like to see the location of Opal’s remodeled house. It’s only a couple of blocks from where we parked.”

“What did you make of Annie’s suspicions about whodunit?”

Judith grimaced. “At first, I thought she was putting us on,” she said, smiling at a woman whose tartan jacket matched the coat on the fox terrier she had on a leash, “but her details changed my mind. It sounds as if she was afraid of getting canned. That means someone at Peebles Place, like the manager, Myrna Grissom. Maybe she died.”

“Or quit?” Renie suggested.

“Possibly. But what motive would she have for killing Opal?”

“Maybe Opal found out Myrna was juggling the books.”

Judith shook her head as they got into the Subaru. “From what little I know of Opal, she wasn’t a curious type. I wish Annie had finished what she was about to say when the Fighting Irish fans needed refills.”

“As in ‘a man and a woman came into a bar’? Isn’t that the opening line of a joke?”

Judith frowned. “Maybe the joke’s on me for not asking. Now I wonder what it was. Probably nothing important.”

It had started to rain and the wind was up, scattering a few remaining leaves from the small trees planted along the sidewalks. As they entered a residential area, Judith noted that the Toomses’ address was 4322 on their right. Renie couldn’t help but see the big numbers on a pillar near the sidewalk. “It’s Twenty-first Century Re-do,” she declared. “Lots of glass and boxlike. I hate it.”

“Right,” Judith said, slowing down, but looking across the street. “I wonder who lives over there.”