Hocus Croakus (25 page)

“Oh, very much so,” Inga replied. “I've never been able to wear gold—or silver.” She looked closely at Judith. “Are you saying this could be a metal allergy?”

“It'd be the first thing that would come to mind,” Judith said.

Renie stepped forward from where she'd been standing near the door. “I'm allergic to nuts and peanuts,” she said. “Especially peanuts, which aren't really a nut but a legume. I don't have to eat or even touch them to get a reaction. If peanuts or peanut butter are in the air, I start to wheeze and sneeze.”

“Interesting,” Inga murmured. “Do you think it's because women in casinos wear so much jewelry?”

“It's possible,” Judith said, “but I don't think that's the reason. I'm sorry, I didn't hear you say if you fired Mr. Fromm.”

“I didn't say,” Inga responded, her usual hostility absent. “But I did. Fire him, that is. He and I simply couldn't agree on major business decisions. He's very pigheaded.”

“I would guess,” Judith said with a smile, “that with Mr. Fromm no longer in the picture, your rash will clear up.”

 

“And the point of that was…?” Renie inquired when they were out in the corridor.

“First,” Judith replied, “to find out if G. D. Fromm had been canned. Second, to verify that Inga has a precious-metals allergy. And third, to see if she knows anything about the gold. Judging from her reaction—excuse the expression—I don't think she does.”

Renie shot her cousin a quizzical glance as they entered the elevator. “The gold, as in the alleged lode on the family property?”

“I'm beginning to think so. Now how did G. D. Fromm find out about it?” Judith paused, then answered her own question. “Because Dale Armstrong has done some work for the casino. I don't know how he hooked up with G.D., but he must have. Fromm is the one who seems to be shedding gold dust in his wake.”

“You can't fool around with this, coz,” Renie declared. “When Bart Bednarik wraps up the B&B renovation, you'll have to go to the cops.”

“I know, I know,” Judith replied. “I still have to tell Joe about it. I'm afraid he'll think I'm nuts.”

The cousins got off on the casino floor. “So how does this gold thing tie into Sally and Micki's murders?” Renie asked.

“I don't know,” Judith admitted with a nervous glance at her watch. It was two-thirty. “Damn! I'm stymied. There's no one to talk to. I don't even know what questions to ask. And I forgot to bring up Marta Ormond Flax's sudden departure when we were in the Wild Ginger Suite. This bet with Joe has got me rattled. Where's my usual logic?”

“What about learning how the original trick was done?” Renie suggested as they wandered aimlessly in the direction of the table games. “Do you think Lloyd would tell us, and if so, would it help?”

Judith shook her head. “Lloyd's sworn to secrecy, like the rest of the company. If he weren't, it might be helpful to—” Judith snapped her fingers. “G. D. Fromm! I'll bet he'd rat on the Great Mandolini crew. I wonder if he's still around. Let's go to the front desk and find out.”

G. D. Fromm was indeed still registered. Judith turned to Renie. “I can't do this,” she averred. “If he's
in on the gold deal, then he may not want to talk to me. He doesn't know you. Can you handle it?”

Renie looked appalled. “So who am I supposed to be? The Middle-Aged Siren of the Stillasnowamish River?”

“That's not a bad idea,” Judith said. “You clean up pretty good.”

“Come on, coz,” Renie protested, “even if I looked more like Janet Jackson instead of Andrew Jackson, I don't see how I could beguile the magic trick out of him. He's on the business side, he may not know.”

“You're creative,” Judith said. “Check out the bars. I've never seen G.D. gamble, but he enjoys a drink.” She pointed to the Autumn Bar. “I'll stay near the table games. I might even play some blackjack.”

“Swell.” Renie stomped off to the designated watering hole.

Judith wandered around the gaming area, keeping an eye out for Manny Quinn. She didn't spot him, however, and finally sat down at a five-dollar blackjack game. Even as play began, she was rubbernecking for any sign of Doc Engelman. If anyone knew why Marta Ormond Flax had checked out of the resort so abruptly, it would be the doctor.

Engelman wasn't around, either. Perhaps he was following the horse races in the sports book. Or maybe he didn't visit the casino every day. Judith was down thirty-five dollars before she stopped gawking.

Half an hour had passed since Renie had gone off on her quest for G. D. Fromm. Judith was growing more anxious by the minute. She could swear that she heard her watch ticking like a hammer. She put down her last five-dollar chip and promptly lost it. Getting up from the table, she paced the floor. It was after three o'clock.
Maybe she should just try to think. Logic. Reason. How many times had she solved a murder case by applying her knowledge of people and her listening skills? Why couldn't she do it now?

“Must kill cousin.”
The words came from behind Judith, along with two hands digging into her shoulders.

“Coz!” Judith cried, trying to turn around. “What happened?”

Renie let go. Her hair was more tousled than usual, there was a large wet spot on the front of her lime-green sleeveless sweater, and a small cut was still bleeding on her left arm.

“I found G.D.,” she announced, taking a Band-Aid from her purse and applying it to her wound. “He was in the Winter Bar, drunk as a skunk.”

“Did he attack you?” Judith asked in alarm.

Sitting down at a closed roulette wheel, Renie shook her head. “I attacked him. Well, not really. It was a series of accidents.”

“Oh, dear.” Judith felt guilty. “What happened?”

Renie took a couple of deep breaths. “I first saw G.D. in the cabaret, when he joined Inga at what should have been our table. So that's how I approached him—being funny, as in, ‘Aren't you the man who sat at our blah-blah? Yuk, yuk.' Since he wasn't there when we got usurped, he was befuddled. And since he was wasted, it didn't matter.”

“So were you able to hold a conversation with him?” Judith asked.

“Sort of,” Renie said, taking a hairbrush out of her purse. “I felt obliged to order a drink. While I waited, I made small talk to see if he was tuned in. I mentioned things like I'd won a million dollars on a quarter machine and the casino was being sold to a group of pen
guins and my feet were connected to my arms. No reaction.” Without using a mirror, Renie brushed her hair. “My screwdriver arrived just as G.D. was trying to relight his cigar. He knocked the drink over, which resulted in this.” Renie pointed to the stain on her sweater.

“Did he notice?”

“Nope. Before I got a replacement, he hit the empty glass and it broke.” Renie pointed to the cut on her arm. “I helped the bartender pick up the pieces. Meanwhile, G.D. dropped his cigar, burning a hole in his pants. ‘Your pants are on fire!' I shouted. That got his attention, especially when I dumped his drink in his lap to put out the fire.”

“Goodness.” Judith shook her head. “I won't ask about your hair.”

“I think I was trying to pull it out in frustration,” Renie said. “But I did find out about the illusion. More or less.”

Judith's eyes widened. “You did? Tell me.”

“It was kind of a muddle,” Renie began. “G.D. was never sworn to secrecy because he worked exclusively on the business side. He said that if he hadn't taken over the act, Freddy would still be pulling canaries out of his pants in Shoshone, Idaho.”

“How did you get him to open up?”

“After I dumped the drink on him,” Renie explained, “I mentioned that if I were a magician I could wave a wand and fix the hole in his trousers. Then I added that speaking of magic, the Great Mandolini stunk. That's when G.D., who now thought I must be smart, came into focus and began railing against the Mandolini troupe and how badly they'd treated him, particularly Inga.”

“Ah!” Judith smiled in approbation. “Nice work.”

“Anyway,” Renie continued, “even though he didn't work on the artistic side—which is why he didn't sign an oath—most of the illusions were standard fare. The saber-and-cabinet act involved a trapdoor. After the cabinet was shut, Salome—I mean, Sally—dropped a few feet below the stage. Sawing somebody in half involves the person's torso being lowered into a cavity on the table. The saw cuts through whatever is on top—fabric, usually. It's all about diverting the audience's eye.”

“Interesting,” Judith murmured. “But not very helpful when it comes to solving the murders. Did he say anything enlightening about the individuals?”

“Mostly that they're all a bunch of hard-hearted idiots,” Renie said. “G.D. thinks Freddy is using Lloyd, who has the real creative talent, and that Lloyd, not Freddy, should be the star. Grisly was wildly jealous of both Sally and Micki because she's always been in love with Freddy. Furthermore, Grisly put up the money to get Freddy started. Manny Quinn isn't a very good gambler, but he's an outstanding moocher who's living off Sally's money.” Renie paused to catch her breath. “Oh—one other thing. Inga isn't Freddy's sister. She's his mother.”

J
UDITH STARED AT
Renie. “Inga is Freddy's mother? Why the charade?”

Renie shrugged. “G.D. insisted that Inga wants to seem younger than she really is. Vanity, I guess.”

Judith made some calculations in her head. “Freddy's not much over thirty. I figure Inga for early, mid-forties. Let's add another five years for her. Yes, that'd work. Inga could have been a teenage mother.”

“So who was Dad? Or,” Renie added, “does it matter?”

“It would to Dad,” Judith replied.

“Maybe not,” Renie put in. “Maybe Dad ran off. Maybe Dad never knew about Freddy-to-Be. Maybe Freddy made Dad disappear.”

“Whoever Dad is,” Judith said slowly, “I doubt that he's part of the troupe or the hangers-on. That would be too much of a coincidence.”

Renie gazed at her cousin. “Would it?”

Judith sighed. “It would. Still, I understand what you're saying. It wouldn't be the first time we've run across that type of coincidence. Which is seldom a coincidence at all, since the connection often has had a direct effect on the murder investigation.”

“In other words,” Renie said, “if someone is out to kill someone else, they don't necessarily present their ID at the door.”

“Exactly.” Judith crossed her arms over her breast. “Which gives me some ideas.”

“Such as?” Renie inquired.

Judith grimaced. “I have to let everything get arranged in my brain. Let's go outside and sit by the lake. Or maybe the river. I've always found the river peaceful.”

Renie stood up. “So I'm supposed to sit and watch you think? With all these fortune-making opportunities before my very eyes?”

Judith took umbrage. “I thought you wanted to help.”

“Hey—I know how it works when you're in your thinking mode,” Renie responded. “You just sit for ages, and when you come up with a solution, you don't always tell me because you're not one hundred percent sure.” She looked at her watch. “It's a quarter to four. If you're not back by five, I'll come looking for you.”

Judith knew Renie was right. Sometimes a solution could be reached by bouncing ideas off her cousin. Other times—and this seemed to be one of them—Judith had to go it alone. Her logical mind demanded that she get her thoughts lined up like ducks on the lake.

Which was exactly what she was looking at ten minutes later. She'd gone to the river first, but the sun was out and a dozen or more children were playing along the bank. Their happy shouts would have pleased her at another time, but she needed quiet. There were a few boats on the lake, but she found a peaceful place in the picnic area. Despite the sunshine, the March tempera
ture remained in the upper forties. It wasn't yet spring; it wasn't the season for dining al fresco.

So Judith watched the mallard ducks swim and dive in the emerald-green waters. The lake was small, and its far rim nestled against the craggy slope of Mount Nugget. Patches of snow clung in deep crevasses halfway up the mountain. Two waterfalls tumbled down into the lake that fed, in turn, into the Stillasnowamish River.

It was quiet, a perfect setting for concentration. The only sounds were the occasional chatter of a chipmunk or the caw of a crow. Grisly Vanderbehr was rich, and in love with Freddy. Inga was Freddy's mother, not his sister. G. D. Fromm might or might not have been responsible for Freddy's success. Either way, he had been fired by the dictatorial Inga.

The sun scooted behind a cloud. Judith kept thinking. Manny Quinn had been living off Sally. Had he killed the goose with the golden egg, or was Sally highly insured? The latter, most likely. Show business personalities were often insured by their employers. Was Lloyd Watts so frustrated with playing second banana that he was willing to sabotage the company? Lloyd was the quiet type, to Judith, always a dangerous sort. And where did Micki figure into all of this? Where had she come from? Had she hoped to become not only Mrs. Polson, but Freddy's new stage assistant?

And then there was Marta Flax. She was the real mystery woman. Judith could hardly believe that Joe and the rest of the investigative team hadn't learned more about her background. Or had they? Maybe Joe wasn't talking because he didn't want to endanger his wife.

Judith kept thinking. Personalities, situations, connections—all tumbled around in her head. A picture was coming into focus, not unlike Mount Nugget's mirrored image in the lake. When she discarded theories, studied suspects, delved into relationships, there was only one person left. She knew who'd killed Sally and Micki.

Feeling confident, Judith stood up, turned around, and let out a yelp. “Coz!” she exclaimed. “You scared me! Why do you keep creeping up on me like some demented stalker?”

“I don't,” Renie said, put off by the accusation. “I've been standing here for five minutes, waiting for you to come out of your trance.”

“Oh.” Judith uttered a foolish little laugh. “Sorry. But I've got it.”

Renie grinned. “You do? Great! Whodunit?”

Judith opened her mouth, but stopped. “I'm not sure I should tell you. I mean, it's because of the bet between Joe and me. Anyway, you'll know soon enough.”

Renie kicked at some pebbles. “Damn, damn, damn! See? It's exactly what I said. What's the point of me hanging around and watching you think? Instead, I won four hundred dollars on a Beaver machine.”

“Good for you.” Judith checked the time. “It's five-twenty. I lost track. But I'll make the six o'clock deadline.”

“I had to line up three beaver dams,” Renie said. “I figured the machine would be lucky because kids made fun of my big teeth in grade school and called me Bucky.”

“It's been a handicap,” Judith asserted, “being almost completely out of the loop on this case. Plus, I haven't
had that many opportunities to talk to the suspects. The more they say, the more they reveal.”

“I'd already won fifty bucks by getting three beaver tails in a row,” Renie recalled. “That's when I really sensed that Bucky could be hot.”

“The thing is,” Judith said as they started up the trail, “that after I considered the personalities and the possible motives, it all came down to one person.”

“I hit the dams just before five,” Renie said, “and the machine pays out only the first four hundred of the sixteen hundred quarters. I had to wait to get the rest in cash. That's why I was late coming to get you.”

“Now what should I do?” Judith muttered as they approached the casino's rear entrance. “Go up to the room and see if Joe's there, or just hang out in the casino and meet him by the cashier's window at six?”

“One of the employees told me that the machine was fairly new and nobody had hit the jackpot until I did,” Renie remarked as they went inside. “I drew quite a crowd.”

“The other question is, should I notify someone, like Jack Jackrabbit?” Judith wondered. “He'd have to promise not to tell Joe, but at least Jack would be on guard in case there might be another victim.”

“I remember,” Renie said as they passed a couple coming from the resort's gym, “years ago when we were in Reno, I was the first one to get a jackpot on a San Francisco machine at Harrah's. I lined up the three sections of the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“Coz!” Judith barked. “You haven't heard a word I've said!”

“Huh?” Renie blinked at Judith. “I have, too. Besides, you weren't listening to me. In fact, you weren't talking to me. You were talking to yourself.” She took
Judith by the arm. “Go write down your solution and have it ready to put in the safe. Then call up to the room to see if Joe's there. If not, we'll wait. How's that?”

Judith stopped in the hallway that led to the lobby. “Okay.”

She found a notepad at the front desk. Huge placards advertising Mandolini's return seemed to be everywhere. Motioning for Renie to back off so her cousin couldn't see the paper, Judith wrote down the killer's name and slipped the single sheet into her purse.

“Five thirty-five,” she stated. “Let's wander over to the cashier's.”

By chance, they walked past the yellow Corvette with its smiling blond mannequin. Judith shuddered. Then she took a second look. Next to the blonde behind the wheel was a figure in the passenger seat—a pretty woman with stunning red hair.

The redhead bore a remarkable resemblance to Micki Mendoza.

 

Shaken, Judith sat down on a chair across the aisle from the 'Vette display. Renie had turned pale. “Gruesome,” she declared. “Is that part of the promotion for tonight's performance or somebody's idea of a joke?”

“Either way, it's ghoulish,” Judith said, feeling both upset and angry. “Let's get out of here. We can wait by the cashier's cage.”

They didn't have to wait long. At five to six, Joe appeared, looking uncommonly jaunty.

“Hey,” he called to Judith, “you ready to bet your life?”

“I feel as if it's more like ‘bet your wife,'” Judith re
torted. She didn't smile; she was still disturbed by the mannequins in the Corvette. But she reached into her purse and took out the slip of paper. “I've got it.”

Joe's face fell a notch. “You have?” He shrugged. “Okay, let's get an envelope and put it in a safe place. Do you want me to fill out the forms?”

“What forms?” Judith asked.

Joe waved in the direction of the cashiers' windows. “You have to sign up to get a box in the safe.”

Judith's face was stiff. “I already did.”

“Oh?” Joe shrugged again. “Go ahead. I'll watch.”

To Judith's relief, Dolly wasn't on duty. A young Asian man whose name tag identified him as “Sidney” was behind the window. At least Judith would avoid having Dolly ask if she'd won another bonanza. Joe didn't need to know about her earnings just yet.

Joe, however, was curious. After he'd watched Judith put the killer's name into an envelope and sign for it, he asked why she already had a box.

Judith never minded telling a fib for a good cause. “Mother didn't feel secure about wearing her engagement diamond in a gambling establishment,” she replied, ignoring Renie's incredulous look, “so I put the ring in the safe for her.” Joe wouldn't have noticed or remembered that Gertrude hadn't worn her engagement ring for some time because of arthritis.

“Okay.” Joe rubbed his hands together. “Let's go upstairs and change.” He turned to Renie. “I almost forgot. I ran into Bill and asked if you two would like to attend the show tonight. He said it was up to you, but he wouldn't mind seeing how Freddy performs under great duress. A case study, I suppose. We'll have to postpone the free dinner in the Johnny-Jump-Up Room. Anyway, are you in? I already got you comps.”

“Sure,” Renie said. “Same time, same place? Drinks in the Winter Bar at seven?”

“You got it,” Joe said as he put his arm around Judith. “You going up now?” he asked Renie.

She shook her head. “Not quite yet. I'd sort of like to hit the beavers again.”

The Flynns parted company with Renie. When the elevator doors opened on their floor, they were confronted by Gertrude and Aunt Deb in their red and yellow wheelchairs.

“Move it, twerps,” Gertrude ordered. “We've got places to go and chicken to eat.”

“We can't be late for the social hour,” Aunt Deb said with a smile. “It'd be rude.”

Judith and Joe edged around the wheelchairs. “Have a wonderful time,” Judith said to the old ladies, who were racing each other into the elevator.

“Break a leg. Or a hip,” Joe called out as the elevator doors closed.

“Joe! That's a terrible thing to say!” Judith scowled at her husband. “Deep down, don't you find them incredible?”

“As in I can't believe they're real?” Joe snorted. “I guess so. In a weird kind of way.”

“You're awful,” Judith said as they went into their room.

Joe glanced at Judith to see if she was kidding. She wasn't. “Well, there goes my chance for a passionate preprandial rendezvous.”

“Your chance for that went out the window with your wager,” Judith declared. “I'm still irked. Besides, I want to hear about what happened at Hillside Manor this morning.”

“Everything went off on schedule,” Joe replied, ob
viously disgruntled by Judith's rejection. “Furnace, countertop stove, rewiring—I don't know why you have such problems with Bart Bednarik. He seems pretty easy to deal with as far as I'm concerned.”

“Male bonding,” Judith muttered. “That's great,” she added in a louder voice. “So everything will be ready when we get back Saturday?”

“It looks that way,” Joe said, heading into the bathroom. “Unless you figure out how to screw it up again.” He slammed the door behind him.

Judith happened to glance in the mirror over the dresser. She looked tired, irritable, and unattractive. The evening was getting off to a bad start.

Even after Judith and Joe had readied themselves, the icy atmosphere between them seemed fitting for a meeting with Renie and Bill in the Winter Bar. Indeed, the Joneses, who had arrived first, sensed the chill immediately.

“If either of you has bruises,” Renie stated, “don't show them to me. I'm in a good mood. Bucky Beaver pooped out on me, but I won another two hundred bucks on a Wild Bird machine. I lined up three cedar waxwings.”

“Great,” said Judith.

“Terrific,” said Joe.

“Franz Kafka,” said Bill.

“Huh?” chorused the Flynns.

“Kafka,” Bill repeated. “Gloom. Doom. Total despair. That's what you both act like.”

“Sorry,” Joe said, summoning the waiter. “My lovely bride seems to have overextended herself. She forgot she was on vacation.” He shot Judith a dirty look.

“I'm not prone to argue,” Judith retorted.