Legs Benedict (12 page)

“And your mother?” Judith asked.

Pam shook her head. “Mama died six years ago. Cancer. That was when Papa got into financial difficulties. He was spending so much time taking care of her that he let the business slide.”

“I'm so sorry,” Judith murmured, then remembered some of the other phrases from the notes Renie had taken while Pam was being interviewed by J. J. “Would I be wrong if I guessed that the killer—the stone killer, I believe is the term—was Legs Benedict?”

Pam's eyes widened. “No. How…Are you sure you're not Doria?”

Judith winced. “Of course I'm sure. Maybe you'd better tell me about this Doria.”

Once more, Pam and Sandi looked at each other. “We can't,” Sandi finally said. “It's not that we don't want to, it's that we're not exactly sure who Doria is. All we know is that Doria was supposed to be here and didn't show.”

Pam gave Judith a strained smile. “We do have a confession to make, though. Yesterday, we couldn't figure out why Doria wasn't among the assembled guests. We went into the kitchen when you weren't around and looked at your computer. By accident, we deleted some of your database.”

“I see.” Judith wondered if the deletion had in fact been an accident. “Did you also swipe the disk and rip the pages out of the guest register?”

“No,” Pam replied, looking startled. “Why would we do that?”

“Somebody did,” Judith said in a dry tone. “Tell me this—how many of these people did you know before you got to Hillside Manor?”

“Pete,” Pam replied. “That's all. Except we knew Legs was coming here. We had never met him, though.”

Judith was dubious. “Not Barney?”

Sandi shook her head. “I've never heard of him.”

A terrible suspicion had crept over Judith. If Barney hadn't killed Legs, somebody else had committed the crime. Pam Perl had a motive. And she and Sandi had had a gun. They had flown from Newark in a private plane. There was money somewhere. Perhaps it had come out of the family import-export business. But maybe it had come from a more sinister stash.

“How did you know Legs was coming to this B&B?” Judith asked.

“Somebody called us,” Pam answered. “It was a woman.”

“We
think
it was a woman,” Sandi put in. “She had a
really husky voice. Pam took the call, but we don't know who it was. But she—the woman with the deep voice—told Pam that Legs was arriving here Monday.”

“When did you get this call?” Judith inquired.

“Friday,” Pam said. “We flew out of Newark Sunday afternoon and stopped off in Chicago. We got here Monday afternoon. You know that.”

“Chicago?” Judith cocked her head at Pam. “Why Chicago?”

“I'm a licensed pilot,” Sandi said. “The plane belongs to Mr. Perl's company. I'd never flown cross-country before, so since we didn't have to be here until Monday, we decided to break up the flight and not do it in one day.”

The explanation made sense, though niggling doubts remained. Chicago was Malone territory in Judith's mind. Yet Mal and Bea would have been on the road by then. Maybe the teachers were telling the truth.

“I still don't understand the purpose of your trip,” Judith said, moving around in the bed in an attempt to get more comfortable. “Why did you want to meet Legs here? You were just a few miles from him back in Newark.”

Sandi pushed a stray lock of blond hair from her forehead. “That's true. But you don't know New York. You can lose yourself a lot easier there than in a city like this. Especially if you want to get lost.”

Judith uttered a short, impatient sigh. “That still doesn't explain what you intended to…” She stopped as Vivian Flynn came through the bedroom door.

“Judith!” Herself cried, flying across the room. Renie, looking annoyed, was right behind her. “Joe told me you were at death's door. How can I help?”

It was ten o'clock, but time meant nothing to Herself. She was a night person who blossomed after dark. Renie looked as if she'd liked to have nipped Vivian in the bud.

“That's very kind of you to offer,” Judith said in a beleaguered voice, “but we're doing fine. And I'm better. Really.”

Herself sat on the bed, next to Pam. “Oh, dear—I hope
so. You look absolutely
awful
.” The gloating tone annoyed Judith, but Vivian didn't skip a beat. “Pale and wan, peaked and drawn—poor thing, I hear this whole tragedy has been a dreadful ordeal. Joe told me all about it. Imagine! Gangsters!” She darted quick glances at Pam and Sandi. “Are they…?”

“We're preschool teachers,” Sandi put in, looking perky. “Pam teaches the threes. I have the fours.” She stood up and went over to Pam, their customary girlish guises back in place, apparently for the benefit of Herself.

“May we go now?” Pam asked.

“Ah…” Judith grimaced. “Yes, I guess so.” It would be hopeless to try to interrogate the teachers with Vivian on hand.

The teachers left, practically bumping into each other as they made for the door.

“The young,” Herself murmured. “So naive, so impressionable, so pretty. Well.” She sat up straighter on the bed and placed a hand on Judith's. “This is all too thrilling. I can't believe I missed everything this morning. Luckily, Joe filled me in. If you want help, I'm right down the street. In fact, I'd be glad to give you any advice you need.”

“Advice?” Judith was forced to leave her hand under Herself's, though her fingers seemed to have taken on a life of their own and were wiggling like so many minnows. Mercifully, Vivian had switched to a different perfume. Judith had feared that Eau de Muskrat might make her throw up again.

“Yes.” Vivian patted her platinum locks with her free hand. “You see, I've known some of these types from my days on the nightclub circuit. Especially in Florida. They can't pull the wool over these eyes.” The false lashes fluttered wildly.

It was a temptation, but even Judith had her limits when it came to sleuthing. “Thanks, Vivian, but the police think they have a suspect in custody,” she said, trying to summon up a grateful smile. “Or didn't Joe tell you?”

“Of course he did,” Herself replied, finally removing
her hand. “He tells me everything. But apparently there's some doubt. I saw him talking outside earlier this evening with that lean, nice-looking detective. J. J., isn't it? I met J. J. ever so many years ago when Joe and I were married. I remember once when J. J. and his wife—what was her name? A tall, blond Scandinavian girl. Brigitta. I always figured she'd run to fat. Anyway, we were all sitting around having drinks and…”

“I'm going to get the Malones,” Renie broke in. “I'll be right back.”

Judith gave Renie an appreciative nod. For the next five minutes, she laid back and listened to Herself's reminiscences about the Martinezes' visit to the Flynns. The memories shouldn't have galled her—but they did. Joe and Vivian had been married for over twenty years, and Judith still resented what she considered an extended intrusion on her own life. As Herself rambled on, Judith thought of the wasted decades with Dan, sitting not with J. J. and Brigitta Martinez, but with her husband's drunken cronies from the restaurant he'd owned and lost. In a more perfect world, Dan and Vivian would have married each other, and spent the rest of their lives in drunken oblivion.

“Then Joe got Woody Price as a partner,” Herself was saying. “A good-looking fellow—I've always had a weakness for black men—but much too serious. On the other hand, he was never as nervous as J. J. Indeed, I've often wondered if Woody has any nerves at all. I recall one time, when we went to the annual departmental picnic, Woody…”

Renie returned with the Malones. “Mal and Bea had to be coaxed,” Renie said in a tone that suggested she'd persuaded them with the threat of a fireplace shovel. “They're worn out,” she added, glancing meaningfully at Herself. “They'd like to get to bed as soon as possible.”

“Of course.” Judith sensed her smile was phony. “Vivian, I'm sorry, but I have to speak with these guests. If you'll excuse us…?”

Herself offered Mal a coquettish glance. “Certainly. I
understand. Now don't tell me these two are on
their
honeymoon?” Getting up from the bed, Vivian went over to the Malones and pinched their chubby cheeks. “Cute! No wonder you want to go to bed. 'Night, all.” With swinging hips, Herself left.

“Sheesh! Who's that broad?” Mal demanded, rubbing at his right cheek as if stung by a bee.

“A neighbor,” Judith said. “She means well. I think.”

“Hunh,” grumbled Bea. “She looks like a hussy to me.”

“Flamboyant,” Judith said, somehow feeling a need to defend Herself.

“Where's the money?” Mal demanded.

“Money?” Judith blinked. “Oh—the refund. We'll work that out later. Right now I wanted to apologize for all the inconvenience. It's possible that you'll be able to leave tomorrow. If you do, I'd like to make up a nice picnic basket for you to take on your way to…Sorry, I don't know your next destination.”

“The ocean,” Mal replied. “That's the whole point of this trip. Me and Bea have never seen the ocean.”

“A lake's a lake,” Bea put in, catching a glimpse of herself in the dressing table mirror and patting her untidy curls. “Oh, sure, Lake Michigan's big and you could pretend it's the ocean. But it's not.”

“True,” Renie murmured from her post by the bureau. “The ocean's bigger.”

The irony was lost on the Malones. “Look,” Mal said, jabbing a finger at Judith, “we'd better get out of here tomorrow. Yeah, yeah, everybody says this is a nice city, but it rains all the time and we can't see much of it holed up in this place of yours.”

“The beach,” Bea said, her voice starting to quaver. “We dreamed of the big waves and all that driftwood and those tidepools full of funny-looking little animals. We were going to take Corelli with us. We knew how much he'd love the beach. But…” Bea bit her lips, buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears.

Renie, who only cried when her favorite baseball team didn't make it into the postseason, let out a little hiss of annoyance. “Come on, Mal,” she said, “don't get left out. Everybody cries tonight.”

Mal, who had put an arm around his wife, shook a fist at Renie. “Don't be a smartass! You got no feelings?”

Wide-eyed, Renie looked all around her person. “I got some somewhere. Now where did I put them?”

Judith, naturally, was moved by Bea's distress. “Please—ignore my cousin. She has a heart of brick. What happened to Corelli, Mr. Malone?”

Mal lifted his bulbous chin. “He was shot, that's what happened.” Turning back to Renie, Mal made a gesture that emulated the squeezing of a trigger. “You get that, big mouth? You think that's funny? Sheesh—Corelli was our baby boy, our own dear son.”

Bea collapsed in Mal's arms.

Judith began to cry again.

Renie went into the bathroom and slammed the door.

B
ETWEEN SOBS
, J
UDITH
realized that her cousin hadn't barricaded herself in the bathroom, but had gone to fetch some water for Bea.

“Here,” Renie said, thrusting the glass at the grieving woman. “I'm sorry I shot my face off.”

It was the wrong thing to say. “That's what happened to Corelli! He had his face shot off!” Bea shrieked and clawed at her husband's chest.

“I'm gettin' her outta here,” Mal grumbled. “You dames make me wanna puke.” Clumsily, he gathered Bea close to him and virtually dragged her out of the bedroom.

Judith was wiping her eyes. “You
are
a big pain,” she said to Renie between sniffs. “You went too far. Sometimes you take after my mother instead of Aunt Deb.”

Renie shrugged. “It's some kind of syndrome, a refutation of what our mothers represent that we don't like about them. As Bill would say, we become just the opposite. You act like
my
mother, all sentimentality and bleeding hearts. It's a form of rebellion, and…”

“Oh, shut up!” Judith glowered at Renie. “I'm in no mood to listen to your long, drawn-out rehash of Bill's brilliant insights. Didn't you hear what the Malones
said?
Their son was shot
. It must have happened while they were driving from Chicago.” The tears had stopped, and Judith was sitting up very straight. “It can't be a coincidence that one of our guests is shot here, and another was shot en route.”

Looking vaguely chagrined, Renie perched on the edge of the bed. “Okay, you're right about that. But I'm not apologizing for my attitude. The Malones are a pair of jackasses, and I suspect they were that way even before Sonny Boy got whacked. Besides, it isn't always what you say, it's what you do. In case you haven't noticed, I'm here.”

It was Judith's turn to look sheepish. “I know.” She pressed her fingers against her swollen eyes. “You usually are. But you have to remember that no matter how odious these people may be, they're still my guests.”

“This bunch is beyond odious,” Renie stated with a grim expression. “What did the teachers have to say for themselves? And Roland?”

Judith recapitulated the conversations. Renie listened, if not with sympathy, at least with patience. “So Pam's dad—Isaac Perl—got whacked by Legs, providing Pam with a terrific motive. And someone wanted Pam to know where she could find Legs, away from his natural habitat.”

“Put like that,” Judith said, casting a shrewd eye at Renie, “it makes sense. Here on the other coast, Legs had no goons to protect him. He was out of his element.”

“And out of luck,” Renie noted. “Still, I hope the police and the FBI are right. It makes perfect sense for Barney to have shot Legs in self-defense.”

Judith stared at Renie. “You're right. So if Barney killed Legs, why didn't he claim self-defense instead of denying what happened?”

“Hmmm.” Renie paused in thoughtful concentration. “Do you know if the cops are sticking to J. J.'s theory that Barney somehow retrieved his gun from your safe?”

“It'd be a pat solution,” Judith replied, then looked past Renie as Joe poked his head into the room.

“I'm saying goodnight,” he said with a slightly embar
rassed expression. “If you need me, I'll be in Mike's old room.”

“Not for long,” Judith retorted. “Mike and Kristin will be here tomorrow. The baby's due any minute.”

Joe inched a bit further into the room. “Really?” His grin was a trifle lopsided.

“Really. Which also means that J. J. and Company better have this homicide solved in the next twelve hours,” Judith asserted. “I don't want Mike and Kristin under the same roof with these creeps.”

Joe held up both hands. “Hey—it's not my case. You can't rush these investigations, especially when you're dealing with cross-jurisdictions.”

Judith remained firm. “You'll see J. J. before I will. Tell him I want this mess cleaned up. Quick.”

Joe bristled. “Are you nuts? You know better.”

“Do I?” Judith glared at Joe. “I'm beginning to think I know more than your homicide squad and the FBI combined.”

“Really.” Joe's green eyes grew frosty. “Over the years, I'll admit you've gotten lucky a couple of times. But you're no detective, Jude-girl. Now go to sleep and lose the disease. G'night.” He shut the door with a bang.

Judith had turned pale and her fists were shaking. “Jerk! He's jealous. He won't admit I've been smart as well as lucky.” She blinked at Renie. “Or have I?”

“A bit of both, coz. Mainly,” Renie went on as she rose from the bed, “it's your knack with people. They open up to you. For instance, who else could have gotten Pam and Sandi to spill everything?”

Judith regarded Renie with a wry expression. “Did they?”

“What do you mean?”

Judith sighed. “On a scale of ten, they opened up at about a six. In fact, no one has told me everything, and everybody is telling some lies. I just wish,” she said wearily, “I knew who was doing what.”

 

After a rather rocky start, the cousins got settled for the night. Judith slept like a log, and Renie slept like she usually did, which meant she didn't wake up until nine o'clock.

“Good grief!” Judith shouted in horror. “Did you sleep through the alarm?”

“Hunh?” Renie rolled over. “Alarm? What alarm? Fire alarm?”

Judith reached for the clock-radio on the nightstand. “The six o'clock alarm. Damn! You forgot to set it.”

“Never set alarms,” Renie mumbled. “Alarm clocks are…dumb.”

“
You're
dumb,” Judith shot back as she threw off the covers and got out of bed. “The guests must be enraged. Why didn't Joe wake us?” In a frenzy of motion, Judith went into the bathroom, then returned to throw on some clothes. “A good thing I took a bath last night,” she grumbled. “Get up, you lazy butt. I need help.”

“No fire,” Renie murmured into the pillow. “Goody.”

Judith ripped the bedclothes off of Renie. “Come on! Mother must be wild. Let's go.”

“Hey!” Renie opened her eyes and groped in vain for the covers. “I can't wake up that fast. I have to go at it slowly. Very slowly.”

“Phyliss will be here any minute,” Judith said, quickly running a brush through her hair. “She'll wonder what on earth has happened to me.”

“Blast.” Renie staggered out of bed. “Now I'm too awake to be asleep. Okay, okay, I'll be with you in a minute. Blast.” She headed for the bathroom, then turned around. “You're better?”

“Yes, I'm fine. I'll see you downstairs.” Judith hurried out of the bedroom.

To her astonishment, the guests were all seated at the dining room table, finishing the last of what appeared to be a bountiful breakfast. The Malones were lapping up pork sausage patties, Roland was polishing off a Belgian waffle, the Santoris were taking the last pieces of toast from the
toast rack, and the preschool teachers had fried eggs on their heads.

“Chicken,” they chanted, “chicken or the egg? Cluck, cluck, cheep, cheep, we must beg. Tell us chicken, which came first? Which is better, which is worst?”

Seeing Judith, Pam and Sandi began to giggle. “Don't worry,” Sandi said, regaining control, “we've got napkins under the eggs. Oops!”

Sandi's egg slid off her head and into her lap. Pam practically fell out of her chair, laughing merrily. “Sandi…Sandi…not…so…dandy,” she gasped between gusts of laughter.

“Bonkers,” muttered Mal. “Just plain bonkers.”

“High-spirited,” put in Roland. “Very refreshing.”

Marie was gazing at Pete. “Someday,” she said in a dreamy voice, “we'll have little ones to send to preschool.”

“Ah…” Judith tried to gather her aplomb. “Who made breakfast?”

Bea made a slashing gesture with one hand. “Your old man. Not bad, either. Where'd he learn to cook?”

Judith gulped. “Joe's always been an excellent cook. He learned how…um…while he was single.” Joe had, in fact, learned to cook before he was married. His mother had died while he was in his teens, and the skill had served him well when he discovered that Herself couldn't serve anything that didn't come in a bottle with ingredients marked a hundred and fifty proof.

“I'm glad you've been taken care of. So to speak,” Judith added, remembering her audience. Turning tail, she headed for the toolshed.

Agent Dunleavy opened the door. Judith's jaw dropped. “You're back?” she gasped.

“I am.” Dunleavy stepped aside. “Your mother has just finished breakfast.”

Gertrude waved from her favorite chair. “Your lunkhead husband brought me my vittles. Not bad, I have to admit. Tell him next time, I'd rather have links than patties. Why
don't you bring some extra coffee for my nice visitor here?”

Dunleavy intervened. “I'm fine. Don't bother. But thank you all the same.” He cleared his throat and offered Gertrude his most boyish expression. “As we were saying, about your responsibilities at Auschwitz…”

“Hold it!” Judith shrieked, then stepped in front of Dunleavy. “If you persist in this foolishness, I'm going to call somebody and tell them how off-base you are. My congressman, if necessary,” Judith added, wondering who had the authority to call off an FBI investigation.

“Just a few more questions,” Dunleavy replied, ankling around Judith and sitting in a ladderback chair he'd pulled up to the card table. “Your mother and I are doing just fine.”

“Go back to your loony guests,” Gertrude ordered, waving a hand at Judith. “This young man and I have plenty to hash over.”

“No, you…” Judith began, but Gertrude rapped her knuckles on the card table.

“Cut that out! Can't you see we're having a nice visit? How often do you sit around and chew the fat with me? How often does anybody do that? Take a hike, twerp.”

Seething, Judith stomped out of the toolshed. If, in a very short time, she had found it difficult to go up against an FBI agent, she also knew from a lifetime of experience that it was impossible to win an argument with her mother.

Still, she couldn't resist leaving the door ajar.

“…With the prisoners?” It was Dunleavy, speaking amiably.

“Prisoners are bad people,” Gertrude replied. “You have to rough 'em up sometimes.”

“In what way did you accomplish this?”

“Well…that depended. How would you have done it?”

“According to our files, you supervised torture and inflicted other inhumane means.”

“Torture. Hmmm.” Gertrude's tone was musing. “Like playing loud music?”

Clapping her hands to her head, Judith continued on into the house. The situation was impossible, Agent Dunleavy was impossible, her mother was impossible. Still fuming, Judith entered the kitchen and found Renie making a fresh pot of coffee.

“I'm up,” Renie announced, “and doing. How long do you want me to hang out around here?”

Judith considered. She was definitely feeling better, though still a bit weak in the knees. Nor had her appetite returned. And, though she wouldn't admit it out loud, Judith needed Renie for moral support.

“Noonish?” she temporized.

Renie glanced up at the old schoolroom clock, which showed twenty-five after nine. “Okay, I guess I can manage. The Boring Company can wait.”

Judith put both hands on Renie's shoulders. “Thanks, coz. I really appreciate it.” Over the top of Renie's disheveled chestnut curls, Judith saw J. J. Martinez trying to get through the dining room. The guests, particularly the Malones, were buffeting him with questions.

“Later,” J. J. shouted, coming through the swinging door. “By noon, maybe.” He nipped into the kitchen and stepped out of the guests' line of sight. “Whew! They sure want to leave. Are they tired of the rain?”

“Maybe they're just tired,” Judith said with a small smile. “I am.”

“You're better?” J. J. glanced around the kitchen, spied the coffee pot, and made a stabbing gesture. “May I?”

“Sure,” Judith replied, going to the cupboard and taking down a clean mug. “What's up?”

J. J. poured his coffee before responding. “Police at the airport picked up Minerva Schwartz—that is, Minerva Schlagintweit—this morning. She was headed for Brazil.”

“My goodness,” Judith said in surprise. “She was leaving the country?”

J. J. nodded in his jerky fashion. “Tickets for her and Fewer Fingers were bought four days ago, originally booked for New Zealand. That flight doesn't leave every day from here, so they had to wait until this morning. But Minerva cashed in Barney's ticket and exchanged hers for a Rio flight. Now you know why they came here first. The connections are better from the West Coast to Down Under.”

“Except Minerva changed her mind, and was leaving without Barney. That sounds odd,” Judith said.

J. J. shrugged. “We got nothing on her. Technically, she could have taken off. But she's a witness, and we want to question her.”

Judith was still looking thoughtful. “So you still suspect Barney—I mean, Fewer Fingers—of killing Legs?”

J. J. cleared his throat. “We're working with the FBI on that.” Moving nervously around the kitchen, J. J. looked for the phone, then spotted it in its cradle on the counter. “May I?”

“Of course.” Judith turned back to Renie, who had lighted a cigarette and was drinking coffee. “They're not sure,” she whispered. “It must be the part about how Barney got the gun out of the safe.”

Renie gave a faint nod, but said nothing as Judith strained to overhear J. J.'s phone conversation. Between the monosyllables and the occasional grunt, she couldn't figure out what he was saying or to whom he was speaking.

J. J. finished the call, then handed the phone to Judith. “Sorry. Someone rang on your second line. Couldn't hang up on my call.” He hurried out through the back door as Sweetums scooted between his feet and came down the hallway.