Legs Benedict (19 page)

Something moved at the far end of the garage. Judith gave a start and peered into the shadows.

She could see the outline of a man, and he appeared to be holding a gun.

J
UDITH SCREAMED, WHIRLED
around, and started to run. She tripped over a shovel, and caught herself on the Subaru's trunk. Panicked, she regained her balance. A hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

“Mom,” Mike shouted, “it's me. What's wrong?”

Judith froze. “Mike?” she breathed, daring to turn her head. “Oh my God! What are you doing in the garage with a rifle?”

“A rifle?” Mike juggled the long, slim item he'd been holding in his hand. “It's one of those umbrella strollers. You gave it to Kristin at the baby shower Aunt Renie threw, and we stored it, along with some of the other stuff she got, in the garage, remember?”

In relief, Judith slumped against the Subaru. “I couldn't see…It was so dark in here…Oh, dear.” She stood up and hugged her son. “When did you get here?”

“About five minutes ago,” Mike replied, grinning and shaking his head at his mother's panic. “I spent most of the day at the hospital. Kristin and little Dan may come home tomorrow, and she wanted me to find the umbrella stroller. We've got the big, fancy one her folks gave us up at our place at the summit.”

Judith had collected her wits. “You should have
brought the other one. Newborns can't sit in one of these things. They have to be five, six months old because there's not that much support. You might as well put the stroller back for now.”

“Damn,” Mike breathed. “Okay, I'll just grab that carton marked ‘Blankets, clothes, etc.' Hold on.”

It took Mike only a moment to make the exchange. With one arm cradling the carton and the other around Judith's shoulders, he steered her toward the house. “How come you're so jumpy, Mom?”

Judith had hoped that she wouldn't have to tell Mike about the unfortunate situation at Hillside Manor. Obviously, he hadn't had time during the last two days to read the papers or watch TV. When Mike had announced that the baby was on the way, she had prayed that the guests would be, too. But they remained, and now Mike and his family were moving in for a few days. Judith had promised to help with the baby for the first week while Mike went back to work.

“We need to talk,” Judith said, leaning against her son. The shrubbery clippings could wait. The rain was coming down harder, and Judith was tired. Maybe she'd overtaxed herself before fully recuperating from the flu. “Have you eaten dinner?”

Mike nodded. “In the hospital cafeteria. It was pretty lame.” At the porch steps, he broke away from Judith. “Can I unload the car first? I haven't gone in the house yet. I came out to the garage because I was afraid if I didn't do it first, I'd forget the stuff that was stored.” He tilted his head and gave Judith a lopsided grin. “It's been a crazy kind of day.”

You don't know the half of it
, Judith thought, but she tried to smile back. “Sure, go ahead. Take your time. The guests are all in the living room, but we can talk upstairs.”

Mike went down the walk and around the corner of the house, the carton of baby items tucked under his arm. With a lump in her throat, Judith watched him disappear. It seemed like only yesterday that he had hurtled around that
corner, carrying a G.I. Joe doll; later, it was a football; then it was the Blonde du Jour, one of many young girls who had preceded Kristin.

Inside the house, Judith started for the living room. The music had stopped, and Vivian was being shown to the door by Joe and Roland du Turque.

“DeeDee will be wild if I don't get home before dinner burns up,” Herself said, placing a hand on each of the men's shoulders. “You've all been too kind.” She noticed Judith and reached out to embrace her. “You poor thing. You still look drawn and haggard. Do take care of yourself.”

Judith withdrew from the embrace. Herself was still wearing a more subtle scent, one which suddenly struck Judith as familiar, though she couldn't quite place it. “Thanks for your concern,” she said without enthusiasm. “And thanks for coming over.” It wouldn't do to make a snippy rejoinder; Vivian really had been helpful.

“Anytime,” Herself said in her breezy manner. “What are neighbors for?” She wagged a finger, the nail of which glistened with crimson polish. “And don't forget, tomorrow night for certain. I called DeeDee and tried to coax her into coming over here, but she couldn't leave her bouillabaisse. Ta-ta, all.”

Roland returned to the living room, but Joe started up the stairs. “Tonight's the beginning of ‘The Best of Eastwood' festival on channel thirty-two. Want to spend some time with Clint and me upstairs?”

“In a bit,” Judith replied. “I still have to wait for the couple from Santa Cruz. Mike's here. He's unloading his things.”

“Good. I'll see him as soon as he's finished.” Joe made a thumbs-up gesture and headed upstairs. Judith went to the doorway of the living room. Bea and Mal were flipping through some of the magazines on the coffee table. Pam and Sandi had gone out through the french doors to the back porch. Roland had abandoned the piano bench to browse through the records and tapes and CDs that filled
one of the tall bookcases. Marie and Pete were sitting in the windowseat, looking glum.

Judith went through the dining room and kitchen, and out onto the back porch. “I hear you may be able to leave tomorrow,” she said to Pam and Sandi.

The teachers turned, their usually lively faces wary. “We might as well head back,” Sandi said. “I hope the weather's good across the country.”

“That's right, you're flying your own plane,” Judith said. “Tell me, Sandi, will you and Rick be getting married now that…this is over?”

Sandi turned pale. “How did you know?” she gasped, clinging to Pam.

Judith's smile was wry. “I have my sources,” she said. “Will you go into hiding with Rick? How does that work?”

“What does it matter at this point?” Sandi sighed, struggling to regain her aplomb and dismissing Pam's warning glance with a wave of her hand. “We're leaving the country. Rick's cover is blown. He risked everything to come here.”

“Why?” Judith asked, no longer smiling.

“To finger Legs Benedict for Mary Lou,” Pam put in before Sandi could reply. “She was going to arrest him.”

“I don't believe you,” Judith said, though she wasn't quite certain why the words had tumbled out.

“It's true.” Pam's expression was hostile. “Rick was there when our father was murdered. He was the witness. He won't have to testify now because there won't be a trial.”

Judith was puzzled. “I thought Rick was in the mob at the time,” she said.

“He was,” Pam responded. “But he'd come home that particular night. He saw Legs heading for the house, so he hid. I begged Dad not to let Legs in. But Dad was fearless. He thought that Legs had come just to talk, that he was simply an intermediary. Dad made me go upstairs, which I did. But Rick stayed downstairs, in the coat closet. Rick
had a gun, and he figured he could handle any trouble.” Pam halted for a moment, her face stricken as she relived the tragic memory. “There was no talk. Legs stood on the threshold and opened fire. Then he was gone, and Dad was dead before he hit the floor. Rick never had a chance to take aim.”

“Good Lord,” Judith murmured. “How horrible.”

“But Rick had seen Legs clearly,” Pam went on with obvious effort. “He recognized him as one of the Fusilli hit men. Thank God he knew better than to chase Legs out into the street. There was a car with more armed men waiting for Legs. They would have mowed Rick down without a second thought.” Pam bit her lips and her eyes glistened with tears. “The only good part was that Legs never saw my brother.”

“That's when Rick went into the witness protection program,” Sandi put in, patting Pam's shoulder. “But trying to get somebody like Legs Benedict arrested isn't easy.”

Pam swallowed hard and nodded. “When we heard Legs was coming out here, we saw this as our chance to nail him.”

“Who told you he was coming here?” Judith asked. “That wasn't his original destination. He was headed for Detroit to kill Barney Schwartz.”

“Fewer Fingers?” Pam nodded again. “We found out right after he and his mother fled Detroit and Legs went after him.”

“So who told you?” Judith persisted.

The teachers exchanged glances. “Doria,” Sandi replied. “He always knows everything.”

“Who is he?” Judith asked, surprised at the response.

“Honestly, we're not sure,” Pam said. “Rick thinks he may have some connection with the Fusillis. While Rick was working for the mob, he heard the name mentioned several times.”

“How did you get in contact with him?” Judith inquired, marveling at the complexity of relationships in the Legs Benedict case.

“He called Rick originally,” Pam said, “to tell him to get lost, that the Fusillis were onto him.”

“Have you met this Doria?” Judith queried.

Pam shook her head. “No. I told you, I'm not even sure if it's a man or a woman. We call him ‘he' because it's easier. Doria's voice is very soft, almost a whisper. I've often wondered if Doria is female just because a woman might be more concerned for Rick's safety. Even if he is my brother, he's very good-looking.”

For a few moments, Judith mulled over what the young women had told her. She was almost sure that whoever Doria was, he—or she—must somehow tie in with the man Roland du Turque's mother had married for such a short, unhappy time. But this wasn't the moment to mention her surmise. Judith didn't want to sidetrack Sandi and Pam.

“Why were you so shocked to see Rick when he arrived here?” Judith asked.

Sandi gave a slow shake of her head, and Pam put her hand over her heart. We honestly hoped Rick wouldn't come,” Pam said. “He was putting himself in harm's way. Just seeing him in the entry hall made me realize what might happen.”

Sandi nodded. “Not to mention the shock of seeing him with a strange woman. It's a wonder I didn't collapse instead of Pam.”

That explanation satisfied Judith. The preschool teacher antics might have been exaggerated, but there was no doubt that both young women were high strung.

“By the way,” Judith inquired, “what was it you wanted to put in the safe?”

Sandi flushed. “It was nothing, really. Well, I guess it was.” She reached inside her poplin shirt and fished out something that gleamed. “It was this. Rick and I exchanged these medallions just a week before his father was killed.”

Judith examined the medallion that matched the one she had found under the rug, except for one difference. Sandi's was inscribed RP2CW.

“I couldn't bear to part with it,” Sandi confessed, re
turning the medallion to its place of safekeeping. “I tuck it inside my bra, next to my heart.”

Judith smiled softly at Sandi. “Here,” she said, reaching into her pocket. “You may want to hang onto this for Rick. He was still keeping up pretenses when I showed it to him and told him I'd found it under the rug in the entry hall.”

Sandi beamed. “Thanks. Thanks so much.” She tucked the second medallion inside her shirt.

Judith, however, had another question for the young women. “You say that Marie—Mary Lou—came here to arrest Legs. That sounds iffy to me. What's more likely,” Judith went on with a grimace, “is that Rick wanted to get revenge by killing Legs.”

“He didn't kill Legs.” The words shot out of Sandi's mouth.

“How can you be so sure?” Judith asked.

“Because,” Sandi replied, her eyes narrowing at Judith, “we spent the entire night together. Mary Lou switched rooms. She stayed with Pam.”

“That's right,” Pam acknowledged. “Rick has an airtight alibi.”

Judith made no comment. In her opinion, no alibi given by a woman in love was worth ten cents.

Mike came out onto the back porch. “You wanted to talk to me, Mom?” he asked.

“Yes, let's go upstairs.” Judith paused long enough to introduce Mike to the teachers, then mother and son went back inside. “They seem nice, don't they?” she asked, halfway up the back stairs.

“Sure,” Mike replied. “Why shouldn't they be nice? Most of your guests are nice, aren't they?”

Judith sighed. Filling Mike in was going to take some time.

 

Joe had managed to break away from “The Beastwood Festival,” as Judith called it, to help her relate the events that had engulfed Hillside Manor for the past three days.
By turns, Mike was horrified, terrified, and—to Judith's dismay—amused.

“The mob
is here
, under this roof?” He had clutched at his stomach and rolled around on the settee in the den. “Those good-looking girls I met may be killers? That rocks!”

“Not the term we were thinking of,” Joe said calmly. “What's important here is that you're aware that these aren't ordinary guests. They should be gone by the time Kristin and the baby arrive, though. Meanwhile, just to be on the safe side, try to avoid these people.”

“The mob,” Mike breathed. “Wow. And some guy got whacked on Granny's doorstep?”

The front doorbell, which rang on the third floor, sounded. Judith excused herself, but not before she gave a final warning to her son. “This isn't funny. As Joe told you, they made an arrest, but they have no real evidence against Fewer Fingers. It's very likely that the killer is still at large.”

“And Granny was a Nazi?” Mike grinned at his mother. “I'm going out to see her now. I want to hear some of her concentration camp stories.”

Muttering, Judith went downstairs. The couple from Santa Cruz had been let in by the Malones.

“You wouldn't want to stay in this dump anyway,” Mal was saying. “I'd rather be in a slave labor camp.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Judith said under her breath. “Excuse me, I have to handle this.”