Hocus Croakus (14 page)

Grisly stood back a few inches, thin arms crossed over her flat bosom. “Fine. Freddy's lost an ex-wife and a fiancée in the last twenty-four hours. Just sit there like a big toad and see the whole act go down the toilet. It's your livelihood, not mine.” She swung around and stomped out of the bar.

“Livelihood, my ass,” G.D. snarled to nobody in particular. “As if she's ever worked a day in her worthless life.” He sniffed and sipped.

The young man who'd been sitting on the bar stool at the end of the counter guzzled down the rest of his beer, tossed a ten-dollar bill next to his tab, and walked off. Judith slid into his place.

“I'm so sorry for what's happened with the Great Mandolini,” she said softly. “My husband's kept me informed.”

Rubbing at the ear that Grisly had pinched, G.D.'s beady, dark eyes glared at Judith. “And who the hell are you?”

“Mrs. Flynn,” Judith replied in the same soft voice. “Mrs. Joe Flynn.”

G.D. raised his bushy eyebrows, but his attitude thawed a bit. “The private dick? Hunh. I thought I'd seen you around. You're Fatso, right?”

Judith flinched. “Uh…yes, I am. Who told you that?”

G.D. frowned. “I don't remember. Inga, maybe.”

The bartender came up to Judith. “What'll it be, hon?” she asked in a whiskey soprano.

“Just a glass of water, please,” Judith said humbly. “My Galliano-rocks is back at the table,” she added,
pointing over her shoulder. “I have to take my pain pills.”

“Right.” The bartender moved down to the water-dispensing area, filled a glass, and plunked it down in front of Judith. “Cheers.”

“Thank you.” Judith realized that she hadn't brought her purse with her. She also realized that she was over an hour away from her next dose of pain pills. “Freddy must be overcome,” she said. “How can he bear it?”

“So he's got a choice?” G.D. growled. “Hell, if I were him, and had all those meddlesome women hanging around my neck, I'd be damned glad to get rid of a couple of 'em.” The manager took another sniff and another swig.

“‘Meddlesome'?” Judith repeated. G.D. shot her a dark look. “Never mind. Forget what I said.” His small eyes darted to the counter. “I don't see any pills, Fatso.”

Judith knew dismissal when she heard it. But that didn't mean she was going to walk away meekly. “How long have you been Freddy's manager?”

G.D. shrugged. “Almost four years. How come you're so snoopy?”

“Because,” she replied, trying not to grit her teeth, “I'm Fatso.”

“Oh.” G.D. chuckled unpleasantly. “I almost forgot. So you go around quizzing people, huh? Well, I don't feel like being quizzed.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Judith saw Bill and Renie get up and move out of the bar. “Damn!” Judith swore under her breath. “My purse! My drink!” Heedless of her artificial hip, she slid off the bar stool and headed for the now-vacant table.

Her purse was still under her chair; the Galliano
rocks remained on the table. Judith scooped up both, then started back to the bar.

G. D. Fromm was gone. She watched him disappear beyond a half dozen people waiting for a table. About twenty yards away, she saw Bill and Renie part company. He was headed for the table games. Renie was marching off to the quarter slots in the Autumn section. Judith followed, in pursuit.

“You left my purse unattended,” Judith cried when she caught up with Renie, who was sitting down at a Fall into Riches machine. “I could have been robbed!”

“Try a one-armed bandit instead,” Renie replied in a voice that was aggravatingly calm. “Take a seat.”

Judith was still annoyed with Renie. “How could you and Bill walk off and leave my purse like that? Why didn't you bring it up to me at the bar? Not to mention my drink.”

“Why don't you take responsibility for going off and leaving us while you play detective?” Renie shot back, slinging quarters into her machine. “We'd already left once to go to the rest room. Nobody stole your damned purse then.”

“I can't believe you two,” Judith grumbled as she sat down next to her cousin. “I'm checking to make sure nobody stole my wallet.” Rummaging in her capacious black bag, Judith felt the wallet, safe and sound. She also felt something else that she couldn't identify by touch. Taking it out, she saw that it was a cocktail napkin from the bar. Someone had written on it in a hasty scrawl.

“Good Lord!” Judith gasped. “Look at this!” With an unsteady hand, Judith shoved the note in front of Renie.

 

“Butt Out Or You'll Be Next.”

A disinterested Renie leaned over to read the napkin's message. She gave a start and her expression showed alarm. “Could it be a joke?”

“If it is,” Judith replied on a steely note, “I'm not laughing.”

R
ENIE WAS STILL
looking at the note. “Who do you think wrote that?”

“I don't know.” Judith reexamined the napkin. “Whoever it was must have come along while you and your equally careless husband left my purse unguarded.”

“Stick it,” Renie said. “You get so caught up in playing detective that you forget your real life. As in being responsible for your own possessions.”

Judith shot Renie a reproachful look. “You've turned into someone I hardly recognize since you got to the casino. You're all about greed.”

“That's why I go to casinos, dopey,” Renie said in a sour voice.

Judith, who didn't like to argue nearly as much as her cousin did, and rarely convinced Renie that she was wrong, dropped the subject. “I'm taking this note to Joe.”

“Do you know where he is?” Renie inquired, rolling the barrels on her three-quarter slot.

“Probably still with Micki's body,” Judith replied. “They haven't had very long to take pictures and do the rest of the crime-scene stuff. Say, where did you go to the rest room? The one by the coffee shop is closed.”

“Right.” Renie jerked her arm in the opposite direction. “There are rest rooms between the bar and the Autumn section.”

“I'm surprised you take time out to use the bathroom,” Judith retorted, still clutching the note. “I thought maybe you used those plastic buckets.” She stood up again. “I'm leaving now.”

Renie stayed focused on the slot machine. “'Bye. Good luck.”

“Impossible,” Judith declared as she walked away. “If I didn't love her, I'd hate her.”

The mood in the casino struck Judith as subdued. Or maybe she was imbuing gamblers with too much sensitivity. If Renie was typical, then a wholesale massacre could take place and the gamblers would scarcely bat an eye.

The entrance to the coffee shop was still guarded by Emily and Amos. The crowd had thinned out considerably, though a few gawkers wandered by outside the roped-off area.
Not gamblers,
Judith thought,
or they wouldn't be interested.

“Hi, Emily, Amos,” Judith said in greeting. “Is my husband still with the victim?”

Emily offered Judith a warm smile. “I was wondering when you'd be here to help. I saw you leave with Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Are they suspects?”

“Yes,” Judith said, her face serious as virtue lost out to mischief. “Yes, they are. Keep an eye on them, especially her. Mrs. Jones may be dangerous.”

Emily's eyes widened. “Really? She looks so…”

“Small and weak?” Judith shook her head. “Don't buy into it. It's a facade. She knows more martial arts than Jackie Chan.”

“Wow!” Emily looked impressed.

Amos's expression, however, was slightly skeptical. “Were you interrogating them?” he inquired politely.

“Certainly,” Judith responded. “Now what about Joe?”

“He went upstairs to Mr. Green's office just a couple of minutes ago,” Emily said. “I think they're going to remove the body soon. Oh—here comes the sheriff now.”

Judith's head swiveled in the direction of the rest rooms. To her dismay, Abbott N. Costello strode out into the foyer. So did another man in a similar gray uniform who also looked all too familiar. Dabney Plummer, Judith recalled. Seven years earlier, Dabney had been more boy than man. Now his tall, lean figure had fleshed out and his youthful features had sharpened. He had been more like Costello's lackey than his associate. As the duo came closer, Judith ducked her head.

“I'm going to find Joe,” she murmured and somehow managed to escape undetected by the sheriff and his deputy.

To Judith's surprise, the receptionist's desk that Emily had manned earlier was now occupied by Grisly Vanderbehr. She gave Judith a hostile look.

“What do you want?” Grisly demanded.

“I want to speak to my husband.” Judith nodded toward the closed door that led into Pancho's inner sanctum. “He's in there, isn't he?”

“He's busy in there,” Grisly snapped. “Do you want to leave a message?”

“No, I do not,” Judith said emphatically. “What I have to say to Mr. Flynn is urgent.”

“Oooh…” Grisly slapped a hand on the desk. “Okay, okay, but make it quick.”

Judith was sufficiently surprised by the number of people who had crowded into Pancho's office: There
was Pancho himself, G. D. Fromm, Lloyd Watts, Manny Quinn, Jack Jackrabbit, and, of course, Joe. But what startled Judith most was the sight of Freddy Polson, propped up in a chair and being ministered to by his sister, Inga. Freddy's skin was very pale, his cheeks looked sunken, and his eyes were red. His sister appeared to be proffering some kind of hot drink in a mug.

Everyone except the Polson duo stared when Judith entered the room. She pointed to Joe. “May I? It'll take only a minute.”

Joe looked more annoyed than curious, but he stood up and walked over to Judith.

“Look,” she said, showing him the cocktail napkin with its dire warning.

Joe excused himself and propelled Judith not only out of the room, but through the reception area and into the hallway. “Where the hell did that come from?” he asked in an irritable tone.

Judith explained how Renie and Bill had left her purse unattended in the Autumn Bar. “They were probably gone for five minutes or so. The bar was crowded. Anyone could have slipped the note in my purse.”

Joe sighed deeply. “Not quite anyone. You said you left your purse under the chair? This person might have seen you put it there. What it comes down to is who, if anybody, among our potential suspects did you see in the bar?”

“Umm…” In her explanation about the purse, Judith had omitted the part about accosting G. D. Fromm, merely saying that she'd gone up to get a glass of water from the bartender. “Mr. Fromm was there,” she said in a casual voice. “So was Grisly, but only briefly, as far as I know. She came to fetch Mr. Fromm.”

“That makes two,” Joe said.

“I kind of doubt it was Mr. Fromm. I saw him leave and he wasn't near my purse.”

“One, then,” Joe amended. “I suppose someone else could have done it while you were taking your pills.”

“Ah…yes, my pills.”

Joe was regarding his wife with professional skepticism. “Did you notice Bill and Renie leave for the cans?”

“No,” Judith admitted. “I was admiring the bar.”

“Sheesh.” Joe held out his hand. “Give me that napkin. I'll turn it over to the lab, just in case.”

Judith obeyed. “The lab? What lab?”

“The county sheriff's lab,” Joe said, holding the napkin's corner between his thumb and forefinger. “The FBI has bailed on us for the time being. They're chasing terrorists, or some other bunch of damned fools. We're going to use the county lab, since Sheriff Costello has been good enough to offer it.”

Good
wasn't a word that Judith associated with Abbott N. Costello.
Pigheaded, Inflexible,
and
Egotistical
came more readily to mind. But all Judith said was, “Okay.”

“I've got to go back in there,” Joe said, indicating the door to Pancho's outer office. “Inga Polson is considering sending her brother to the hospital. She thinks he's having a breakdown.”

“Oh, dear. I suppose you can't blame him after losing two of the women he loved most,” Judith said.

“True,” Joe responded, his hand on the doorknob. “Even if he might have caused the loss.”

Judith was surprised. “Do you really think he killed Sally and Micki?”

“Anything's possible,” Joe said with a shrug. “As for
Freddy being overcome—some killers can actually make themselves believe they didn't do it. And others are so overwhelmed with guilt and grief that they fall apart. The mind plays strange tricks when terrible, irreversible wrongs occur.”

“Yes,” Judith agreed, “that's true.” She hesitated as Joe started to open the door. “May I come with you?”

Joe looked pained. “You shouldn't. This is an official double-homicide investigation.”

“Where's Sheriff Costello?”

“Still at the crime scene,” Joe replied, looking antsy. “For now, he's technical support only.”

Judith didn't express her relief aloud. She pointed to the partially open door. “Can I?”

Joe was obviously debating with himself. “Not right now,” he finally said. “Wait until we see what happens to Freddy. It's pretty awkward in there at the moment.”

Since Joe hadn't given her a flat-out no, Judith's spirits picked up. “That's okay. You don't mind if I speak with Grisly, do you?”

Joe paused. “No, go ahead. We're short of manpower. Grisly's acting as security in the reception area.”

“A suspect—I mean, a witness—as security?” Judith asked, puzzled.

“She's used to keeping the groupies away from Freddy,” Joe said. “Besides, she's all we've got.” His green eyes lit up. “Unless you want to sit in for her.”

“Sure,” Judith said, trying not to sound too eager. “I'd be glad to do it. Shall I?” She took a step toward the threshold.

“You're on,” Joe said. “You tell her. And send her into the inner office, okay?” He breezed through the reception area and was gone.

Judith wasn't going to waste her opportunity, however. She went through the outer door, leaned against the desk, and offered Grisly a sympathetic smile. “You must be worn out.”

“What?” Grisly spoke sharply. “Oh. Yes, I am. It's been a grueling twenty-four hours.”

Judith cleared a space and perched on the desk. “I understand you've known Freddy and Sally since you were all kids in Shoshone, Idaho.”

“Right.” Grisly, who was doodling on a notepad, only glanced at Judith.

“You all went to grade school together, didn't you?”

“Right.” Grisly was making slashing notations with a ballpoint pen. They looked like rainfall to Judith. Or maybe tears.

“Wasn't Sally the girl next door?”

“Not to me.” Grisly kept doodling.

“I meant to Freddy,” Judith said, trying to be patient.

“Oh. Well, almost. They lived on the same street.”

“But you all went through school together,” Judith pointed out.

“Through grade school. Right.” Abruptly, Grisly stopped doodling and scrunched up the piece of paper. “Lay off, will you? I don't feel like talking about this stuff. It's a really bad time for me.”

“And everybody else,” Judith reminded Grisly. “You're done here. I'm taking over. They want you in the inner office.”

“My, my,” Grisly said in a sarcastic tone, “since when did they put you in charge?”

“Since my husband told me to take over here,” Judith replied crossly as the door opened to reveal G. D. Fromm and Lloyd Watts carrying Freddy Polson out of
the inner office. Inga Polson and Pancho Green followed the trio into the reception area.

“We're putting Freddy to bed,” Pancho announced. “Doc Engelman should be back soon. He can give Freddy a sedative. Inga will sit with him in the meantime.”

Freddy was twitching all over the place, as if he was having a seizure. G.D. and Lloyd were having trouble getting him out into the hallway.

“Be careful!” Inga bellowed. “Freddy's delicate, he's sensitive! He's not a bag of barley!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” G.D. shot back as he edged past Judith and into the corridor. “We know who the bag is around here.”

Judith caught Inga's hostile glare as she trooped behind the men. But something else caught her eye as well: There was a flash or two of glitter on the back of G.D.'s suit jacket. It looked very much like the flecks that Judith had brushed off her own clothing earlier in the evening. She wondered if Fromm had been the man who'd bumped into her in the darkened coffee shop.

Grisly banged on the door behind the little group. “Even though he's Freddy's manager, G.D. doesn't act like it sometimes. Poor Freddy.” With a worried expression, she stalked off into the inner office.

Judith sat down at the desk. To her disappointment, Grisly hadn't left any telltale items behind. The drawers revealed nothing of interest except for materials and supplies that Pancho's regular receptionist used. Even the daybook didn't contain anything that might be regarded as suspicious. The receptionist—whose name was Alberta Saenz, according to her individual
ized memo pad—was terse in her notations for Pancho's business day:

 

Monday, March 5—L.R. re St. Patrick's Day promos, 9
A.M.
D.A. re land survey, 10
A.M.
P.J. re St. Patrick's Day menu, 11:15
A.M.
Lunch—county commissioners, noon
R.B. re investment portfolio, 2
P.M.
N.G., USDI, 3:30
P.M.
G.D.F. re main stage, 4:45
P.M.

 

All entries had been canceled for Tuesday, March sixth, and Wednesday, March seventh. No doubt, Judith thought, because of the tragedy. In any event, the half dozen that had been scheduled seemed mainly to deal with the upcoming St. Patrick's Day festivities and a look ahead to Easter.

The only thing on Monday's agenda that caught Judith's eye was the last afternoon appointment with G.D.F., who, she assumed, was G. D. Fromm. But that wasn't surprising. Freddy's act was playing in the cabaret. Looking at the casino's entertainment schedule, she noted that the Great Mandolini had opened Friday, March second, and was slated to run through the nineteenth. The replacement act, which had been penciled in by someone, was a Country & Western band called the Kitshickers. The grunge group that had opened for Freddy's act would do the same for the new troupe.

Judith drummed her nails on the desk. Who was still in Pancho's office? The exodus had been fairly large. Joe was still in there, so were Pancho, Grisly, Jack Jackrabbit, and Manny Quinn. That was about it.