Hocus Croakus (26 page)

“You're not prone to do much of anything,” Joe shot back.

“Kiddies!” Renie cried, waving her hands. “Stop it! We're supposed to be having fun.” With one hand, she picked up the candle that illuminated their table. With the other, she held the bar menu. “Kiss and make up or I'll set the goodies list on fire.”

Judith and Joe stared at each other for a long time. Renie ignited the menu's corner. Bill, with the expression of a man who has suffered greatly for the cause of marriage, remained stoic. But Judith snatched the menu out of Renie's hand and dipped the burning corner in her cousin's glass of ice water.

“You idiot!” Judith cried as the fire was doused. “Leave the burning tricks to Freddy and Lloyd.” She glared at Renie, then turned to Joe. “Okay. Let's be nice.”

The Flynns exchanged pecks. Judith tried to smile; Joe gave their cocktail orders to the waiter, who had a wary eye on Renie.

The tension remained, however, even after the drinks were finished and the foursome headed into the cabaret. Judith—a true Libra—could see both sides of the quarrel. She knew why she was angry, she knew why Joe was mad. But she wasn't ready to give in. Not until she proved that she'd identified the killer.

The rest of the audience was in a much better mood, exuding an air of anticipation. Once again, the Flynns and the Joneses were given a ringside table. Apparently, it was theirs to keep. Inga Polson and Grisly Vanderbehr sat a half dozen tables away, accompanied by Pancho Green and Doc Engelman. During the entrée, Judith spotted Manny Quinn, sitting toward the back. He was at a table for two with a woman Judith didn't
recognize. Only G. D. Fromm seemed to be absent from the gathering. There were, however, a number of familiar faces Judith recognized from the previous performance as well as from the casino. The hasty but grandiose advertising campaign for the Great Mandolini's farewell appearance had obviously paid off.

Twenty minutes later, when the dessert plates had been whisked away, the houselights dimmed. Pancho left his seat and went up on the stage, waiting for the crowd to quiet.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Pancho began. “This evening you are in for an unprecedented experience in the art of illusion. Despite the terrible losses suffered this week by the Great Mandolini, he is a veteran performer who truly believes that the show must go on.”

A murmur of high anticipation passed through the audience. Judith shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Joe and Bill kept their eyes fixed on Pancho. Renie brushed crumbs and other debris from her wine-colored evening ensemble.

“There will be no opening act tonight,” Pancho continued. “Instead, let me present a real trouper, the Great Mandolini.”

Houselights down. Drum roll. A hush throughout the room. Renie choking on a sip of water. Bill slapping her hard on the back. The curtain slowly rising. The empty stage. The eerie sound of Lloyd Watts's theremin in the background. A single spotlight.

A rabbit dashed out of the wings, made a complete circle, and sat in the spotlight. The stage went dark for the blink of an eye. The lights came back on. The rabbit had disappeared. The Great Mandolini stood in its place. Excited applause burst from the onlookers.

“Ha!” Renie said under her breath. “I can figure that one out from what G. D. Fromm told me. The spotlight was moved. Freddy was there all along.”

Bill scowled at his wife. “Keep it to yourself. Everybody else had to pay to get in.”

“Tough,” Renie retorted, but she shut up.

Maybe it was Judith's mood, but the next series of illusions didn't strike her as very innovative. Almost all of them were variations on objects disappearing and reappearing or birds and small animals showing up in unusual ways. Lloyd Watts seemed to be an able, if un charismatic, assistant. The audience seemed restless, exchanging whispers and moving about in their seats.

As for Freddy, Judith thought he looked much better than when she had visited him in his suite. Of course, he was wearing heavy stage makeup. But there was nothing tentative or unsteady about his demeanor. Freddy's ability to focus completely on his performance undoubtedly carried him through.

After about an hour, there was a brief intermission. Waiters roamed the tables, taking after-dinner drink orders. Judith twisted around in her chair to observe Inga and the rest of her party.

“Fifty, if she's a day,” Judith whispered to Renie. “I misjudged her age, probably because I assumed Freddy's so-called sister couldn't be too much older than he is.”

“They all look a bit grim,” Renie responded. “Of course Grisly always does. Even Doc seems off his feed. Only Pancho is acting like his usual suave self.”

Judith turned in the other direction to look to the rear of the cabaret. Manny Quinn and his female companion sat in stony silence. Judith wondered who the woman was. From such a distance, it was difficult to
make out her features except for her short dark hair and a high-necked black dress.

As the houselights dimmed, Pancho returned to the stage. “What you are about to see is an illusion never before performed anywhere in the world. This is a truly death-defying act. The Great Mandolini and his assistant, Lloyd Watts, will lock themselves in separate cages, each containing a fierce leopard. In the wilds, the leopard's favorite food is the wild monkey. Our two courageous gentlemen have been sprayed with a monkey scent that will make them vulnerable to the fierce leopard's taste buds. This is not an illusion for the squeamish. If you'd prefer not to be a spectator for this first-time event, feel free to leave the cabaret.”

Pancho stepped down as another murmur raced among the audience. Five people—two women, two children, and a man—rose from their seats and made their exit.

“Yuk!” Renie exclaimed. “This sounds kind of terrible. Maybe I should get out of here. The only time I don't mind seeing real blood is when it belongs to one of my graphic-design competitors.”

“Come on, coz,” Judith urged, “you know that Freddy and Lloyd aren't actually going to get eaten alive.”

Renie moved closer to Bill. “I'll close my eyes.” She clung to her husband's arm. “Tell me when it's okay to look, just like you do at the movies.”

The curtain went up to reveal two steel cages. Each held a prowling leopard some six feet long. As the stage lights struck their eyes, they let out deep, frightening growls.

“Real teeth,” Renie said, moving even closer to Bill. “Bigger than mine.”

“But not as scary,” Bill murmured.

After a pause, Freddy and Lloyd emerged from opposite sides of the stage. They were no longer dressed in tuxedos, but costumes made to resemble monkey fur. Slowly, they moved toward the cages. The audience was completely quiet. Even Renie kept her mouth shut.

In unison, the two men opened the cage doors with keys on large silver rings. They stepped inside and locked the cages before tossing the keys out through the bars. The leopards continued to growl.

Freddy and Lloyd did a little dance, as if to taunt the beasts. Both leopards drew back to survey their prey. The men made shrieking noises, imitating monkey cries. The big cats crouched, snarled, and narrowed their eyes. Then, with lightning movements, they pounced.

The stage was plunged into darkness. The audience came alive with voices of fear, excitement, and a few nervous giggles. Judith couldn't help herself. She grabbed Joe's hand and held it tight.

The stage lights came on again.

The leopards were gone. Freddy and Lloyd stood in the locked cages, now wearing their tuxedoes. Each man had a beautiful woman on his arm.

One was Sally. The other was Micki.

They smiled and waved at the crowd.

Judith fainted.

A
MID THE APPLAUSE
and cheers, Judith numbly accepted a sip of water from Joe's glass. Slowly, she turned to look at the stage. Apparently, she had blacked out for only a second or two. Freddy, Lloyd, Sally, and Micki were taking curtain calls in response to the thunderous ovation. All four of them looked hale and hearty.

Judith stared coldly at Joe. “I hate you,” she said. Without another word, she rose from her chair and stalked out of the cabaret.

Apparently, word of the unique illusion—and resurrection—had already leaked onto the casino floor. Small groups were clustered near the slot machines, laughing and talking. The word passed among the blackjack tables, the roulette wheels, the craps games.
No doubt,
Judith thought bitterly,
the news had spread to the sports book
. Instead of the latest NBA victory, the board probably read “Mandolini 117, Fatso 0.”

Judith finally reached the entrance to the casino. It had started to rain, but she didn't care. She marched down the stone steps, almost colliding with a couple of newly arrived guests. Or
suckers,
she thought angrily. She'd certainly been played for one.

Bob Bearclaw was in the driveway, giving one of the valets instructions about a luggage cart. Judith charged toward the doorman, then slowed her step. No matter how irate she felt, Bob Bearclaw wasn't someone to approach in anger.

“Mrs. Flynn,” Bob said, doffing his cap. “You seem agitated.”

Judith faced him squarely. “Do you know why?”

Bob looked as if he might be trying not to smile. “I have an inkling.”

His response made it hard for Judith to repress her outrage. “Does that mean you were in on this so-called practical joke, too?”

Bob motioned for Judith to move closer to the valet kiosk. “It didn't start out with you in mind,” he replied, now very serious. “It was something that the Mandolini troupe felt would be a sensation, and great publicity. Mr. Polson thought it was time to make a major leap in his career. It was only after your husband and Pancho Green got together after your arrival that they decided to use the opportunity to deceive you as their stepping-stone. Mr. Flynn felt you'd be bored at the casino. I understand you chose our resort because one of your relatives was attending a conference at the same time that you had to vacate your home. Your husband said you're not much of a gambler. Except when it comes to murder,” Bob added meaningfully.

“Who all was in on this devious plan besides the Mandolini bunch?” Judith asked, keeping her temper at bay.

Bob started ticking names off on his fingers. “Mr. Quinn. Doc Engelman. Our security people, as well as the local sheriff. Your cousin's husband, Dr. Jones.”

The enormity of the deception overwhelmed Judith. “Not Mrs. Jones?” was all she could say.

Bob shook his head. “No. Your husband felt that the two of you are so close that somehow Mrs. Jones would give it away.”

“But what about the other guests?” Judith asked. “Was it fair to fool the visitors?”

Bob sighed. “That bothered me a bit. But it was entertainment, after all, and that's what people pay for. Mr. Fromm, however, was very much opposed even though he went along with it in the beginning.”

“Was his disapproval why he got fired?”

Bob shrugged. “The company's relationships and personalities aren't an illusion. What you've seen of them is real.”

Judith considered Bob's words for a moment. “What about Marta Flax? She wasn't real, was she?”

Bob shook his head. “Marta Flax doesn't exist. She's Martha Engelman. Martha's very shy and rarely drinks. The only way she would take part was to become inebriated. It was very brave of her. Being unused to alcohol, she didn't realize she'd end up in such a state. Luckily, she's recovered quite well. Without the blond wig, you probably didn't recognize her sitting with Manny Quinn, toward the rear of the cabaret.”

“Don't tell me Fou-Fou was an illusion,” Judith retorted.

Bob smiled. “Fou-Fou is Fou-Fou. A rather spoiled animal, but Mrs. Engelman's pride and joy. I believe Fou-Fou is a show dog.”

“Great.” Judith paced a bit. “I still can't believe it.” She paused, a hand to her cheek. She no longer felt faint or weak, but she was still fuming inside. “Could you send someone to get my car?”

Bob stared briefly at Judith. “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “I trust you're simply going for a drive to clear your head.”

“That's right,” Judith replied. “I have to get out of here for a while.”

“Then drive carefully,” Bob cautioned. “These mountain roads can be dangerous at night.”

“I'll be safe,” Judith promised.

Motioning to a valet, Bob went into the kiosk to fetch Judith's keys. “Excuse me,” he said, “a limo is pulling up. I should greet the newcomers. I believe it's our next headliner, a well-known rap star.” Bob shuddered slightly. “Their music is worse than our tribal chants. Whatever happened to ballads?”

Judith murmured her thanks. For a couple of minutes, she tried to stand still, forcing herself to regain her composure. The Subaru roared out of the garage and came to a stop.

“Thanks,” she said as the valet held the door open.

As she started to get into the car, she heard a sound in a nearby cedar tree. It was the cry of a flicker. Judith snorted in contempt. The previous cries had sounded shortly before the supposed deaths of Sally and Micki. For all of Bob Bearclaw's local folklore knowledge, the flicker's calls hadn't forecast anything dire—unless they were intended to make her look like an idiot.

Which they certainly had,
Judith thought grimly. Pulling onto the highway, she automatically headed in the direction of the family property. The rain had stopped, but except for the intermittent yellow divider, the highway looked—and felt—like slick black satin. Judith slowed down as a pair of taillights appeared after she had turned a sharp corner. The vehicle was a
rusted red pickup, traveling well under the speed limit. There were cars coming from the other direction. Judith had no choice but to hold steady at forty miles an hour.

The old truck left the road when they reached the Green Mountain Inn. Judith, however, didn't press down on the accelerator. She, too, was going to turn off in another three hundred yards. Sitting by the river, she'd seek peace in a place that had always provided sanctuary.

Judith stopped at the gate. It would be locked, of course. She'd have to walk the rest of the way. Going to the narrow opening past the gate, she felt the soft, damp earth under her feet. Rain dripped from the evergreen branches overhead. Without bothering to look at the excavated bog, she walked up the dirt drive, coming out onto flatter ground near what she hoped would be the future site of her country inn.

The clouds were moving swiftly to the east, allowing glimpses of the half-moon. Judith could see the outline of Mount Woodchuck against the night sky. Downriver, to the west, she could see a handful of stars.

It was peaceful on the riverbank. Judith sat down on an old hemlock stump. Her father and Uncle Cliff had sawed down the tree forty years ago because it blocked the view of the mountain. Just before the final cut, Uncle Cliff had pointed to his left, and yelled, “Timber!” The tree had crashed to the right, almost crushing Auntie Vance and Aunt Ellen. Fortunately, everyone had laughed. That was typical of the Grover clan. They could laugh their way through almost anything.

The memory improved Judith's mood. She'd never
sought out danger. She'd never come near a homicide until after she'd opened Hillside Manor. In the years that followed, she'd run into situations where she could—in retrospect—have predicted violence. Guests such as opera stars, members of the mob, a movie company—all were fraught with the potential for murder. And when she was away from the B&B, the chain of events that led to homicide were already in motion before she came upon the scene.

Of course, there was her curiosity. But that stemmed from her interest in people, along with an innate sense of justice.

Maybe Joe was right. Certainly she had encountered some close calls along the way. Her luck could be running out. Maybe the speeding car in the hotel's parking garage had meant to run her down. Or the falling sandbag had been intended to crush her. Maybe somebody thought she was a nuisance—somebody like G. D. Fromm. Judith should be grateful to her husband for his concern. He only wanted to protect her. And that was because he loved her. She might feel foolish, but she shouldn't be angry.

The sound of the river and the quiet of the night had eased her mind. She wasn't quite ready to look back on the events of the past few days and laugh. But eventually, she would. She'd laugh with Joe.

A noise behind her broke her reverie. Judith swiveled around on the stump. Perhaps a deer was coming down to the river for a drink. Or an owl was flying among the trees.

But the figure that appeared out of the shadows was human. Judith squinted to identify the newcomer. It was a man. It was, she realized as he drew closer, Doc Engelman.

“Hi,” she said in a puzzled voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I often walk the river at night,” Doc replied, looking equally surprised. “After all, I live only a quarter mile down the road.”

Judith stood up. “You must have left the casino just before I did.”

“Maybe so.” Doc shrugged. “My wife and I came in separate cars. She headed home right after the final curtain. She never likes to leave Fou-Fou alone for long.”

“Of course,” Judith said, taking a last look at the mountain. “I should go back to the casino. Joe must wonder where I am.”

“I'll walk you to your car,” Doc offered. He turned quickly, as if he were suddenly in a hurry.

“Thanks,” Judith replied as they headed for the drive. “Will you go home by the road or back along the river?”

“I may walk a bit farther,” Doc said. “The rain's stopped. It's a decent night.”

Judith agreed. “We could use some good weather around here. I can't understand why Dale Armstrong's crew virtually walked off the job. As soon as I get home, I'm going to take legal action, if necessary.”

“Contractors can be temperamental,” Doc allowed as they reached the clearing near the road. He stiffened slightly at the sound of an oncoming car. “You'd better be on your way. It's getting late.”

Through the trees, Judith could see the vehicle's headlights pass by. “Yes.” But she began to walk toward the bog. “I still don't understand why Dale started digging this close to the road if he wanted to
test the ground. I don't plan on building so near the highway.”

Another car was coming closer. Doc pursed his lips, head cocked. Again, the car kept going. “What? Oh—who can say? But I wouldn't go any farther. It must be very soft around the edges. The rain, you know.”

“I'll be careful.” Judith took a couple of steps closer. In the dark, she could see nothing but a black hole. “That's another thing—why dig so deep? If they want to test the stability of—”

The moon broke through the clouds, shining down into the trees. Judith saw three mounds barely poking through the ground. They could have been the lids of treasure chests, she thought, before her gaze roamed closer, to the bog's perimeter. What she saw there wrenched a scream from deep in her throat.

G. D. Fromm was lying faceup, tongue protruding, blank eyes staring skyward. His body was already partially submerged in the swampy ground.

Trembling, Judith faced Doc Engelman. “Look! It's terrible!”

Doc didn't move. Judith assumed he was stunned. Then she saw the cold look in his eyes and the tightening of his jaw. Despite the shock, her brain was still functioning. Doc didn't need to look. He knew what was in the bog. He was the one who had put G. D. Fromm there.

“You should have listened to me,” Doc said in a weary voice. “There was no need for this.”

Judith felt that “this” had a double-edged meaning. “Those are real treasure chests, aren't they?” she said in a rapid, high-pitched voice. “But why? I mean, why kill Fromm?”

Doc sighed. “Your family's land originally belonged
to the Stillasnowamish. I've known about the gold and silver deposits around here for some time. I've even found a bit of gold at my place. When Dale Armstrong was working on the casino construction, he heard a story about how the Native-American miners had hidden their caches in the ground. It seems they became finicky about the whole mining process. When the railroad was built and an entire town sprang up on Mount Nugget, the tribe felt that nature was being savaged. There were even quarrels, among the tribe, over the gold. The old chief stopped the mining and decreed that they offer their treasure back to nature. They chose this particular site because it was an unusual type of ground for the area. The Stillasnowamish considered it sacred. The gold was sunk where it supposedly would never be unearthed by anyone else.”

Judith held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Are you saying that the Indians hid their gold in the swampy place we call the quicksand bog?”

Doc nodded. “Yes. Who would expect quicksand-like ground in such a place? Dale Armstrong was amazed. Of course, I've known Dale for some time. I offered him twenty percent of whatever we found.” Doc grimaced. “Unfortunately, that meddlesome Fromm overheard Dale and me talking in the bar a few days ago. He tried to horn in on the deal. He came down here to see if there was any sign of gold. By chance, there was some dust and even a few nuggets.”

Judith was trying to stay calm. She noticed that Doc's head swerved when he heard another vehicle approach. But it didn't stop, and he resumed speaking. “Dale's crew knew nothing about the gold. He and I performed some tests the other day with metal detectors. We knew the chests were about to be uncovered.
I had Dale suspend the digging operation. He came by earlier to make sure we'd judged correctly. Now he's on his way back with a four-by-four and a winch to remove the chests.”