Legs Benedict (2 page)

The weekend progressed smoothly, or as smoothly as it could with the usual difficult demands of the guests. A couple from San Jose demanded a futon. Fortunately, Judith kept one stored in the big closet on the second floor. A woman from Des Moines fell in love with the baby grand in the living room and played old favorites, none of which were Judith's. The honeymooners from Houston got into a big fight and the bride ran out of the house. Her groom found her two hours later, sitting on the next-door neighbors' front porch, pouring her heart out to Arlene Rankers.

Monday dawned with the usual mid-June drizzle and dreary gray skies. Around noon, Judith received a call from Earl and Donna Eckstrom, the couple from Minneapolis who had made their reservation some weeks earlier. They had had car trouble east of the mountains and would have to cancel. Judith graciously accepted their apologies, and
wished she had a more stringent policy on last-minute cancellations. On the other hand, true to her good heart, she felt sorry for the Eckstroms. But their defection left a vacancy.

Renie arrived late in the afternoon with a large sheet cake. “The gas company gave me this when I went in to consult on their revised customer newsletter. Some vice president was retiring and they were having a party, but the guy got drunk at lunch and passed out, so they had to cancel. They thought I'd like the cake, but we'll never eat all of it. I figured you could serve it to your guests instead of the usual hors d'oeuvres.”

Judith regarded the cake with “It's been a gas, Omar!” etched in orange frosting. “Well…I suppose. Maybe I could serve it later, after everyone has come in from their night on the town.”

Renie shrugged. “If not, give it to the Dooleys. They've still got about fourteen kids living at home, don't they?”

“At least,” Judith laughed, referring to the large brood in the Dutch colonial on the other side of the back fence. “I can't figure out which are children and which are grandchildren these days. Sometimes I wonder if people don't drive by and drop off a spare kid. Corinne and her husband would never know the difference.”

The front doorbell rang, a signal that either a guest or a tradesperson had arrived. Family, friends, and neighbors always used the back door at Hillside Manor.

“Time to play hostess,” Judith said, heading through the swinging doors to the dining room. “Stick around, I'll make us something to drink.”

The man and woman on the front porch appeared to be son and mother. “Barney Schwartz,” the short, burly man said, and used his left hand to wring Judith's until she winced. As he let go, Judith noticed that the index and middle fingers of his right hand were missing. “This is my ma, Min,” Barney said, flicking the three remaining fingers at the older woman.

Min towered over her son. “That's short for Minerva,”
she said in a deep, faintly accented voice. “How do you do, Mrs…?”

“Flynn,” Judith replied and cautiously offered her numb hand.

But Min Schwartz merely waved. “Arthritis. My fingers are very stiff.”

So, Judith observed, was her spine. Minerva Schwartz was not only tall, but ramrod straight, and possessed of a sharp, aquiline profile that age hadn't quite undermined. The eyes matched the steel-gray hair, which was swept back from her face and arranged in a tight little topknot. She reminded Judith of her piano teacher, Mrs. Grindstein.

“You'll be in Room Four,” Judith said. “It has twin beds and a very nice view of the bay. Here, Mr. Schwartz, I'll help you with your luggage.”

Barney Schwartz put his foot down in front of the two suitcases and the train case. “I'll manage,” he said with a crooked smile. “Hey, what's with the parking? We pulled up in that cul-de-sac out front.”

Judith glanced outside and saw a brand-new Cadillac parked at the curb. “That's fine. We all have garages, although one of our neighbors, Mr. Porter, tinkers with cars in his free time. We try to leave him a couple of free spaces. You drove from…” Judith paused, trying to recall the Schwartzes' point of departure. “…Royal Oak, Michigan?”

“Yep,” Barney answered, gathering up all three suitcases. “Just outside Detroit. Motown. The Motor City. You been there?”

“Ah…no, unless it was at night on the train.” Judith managed a half-smile. “Years ago, my cousin and I took the train to New York before we sailed to Europe.”

The cousin had inched her way into the entry hall. “I'll pour,” Renie said in an undertone as Judith headed up the stairs with the Schwartzes.

Judith gave a slight nod as she led her guests to their room. “We had new wallpaper put up this winter,” she said, opening the door. “I hope you like it.”

Barney didn't bother to look, but Min surveyed the subtle iris design with the air of a connoisseur. “Very pleasant.” She moved stiffly towards the nearest door. “Is this the bathroom?”

Judith nodded. “You share it with Room Three. There's also a bathroom just outside which is usually used by Rooms One and Two, but accessible to any of the guests. Rooms Five and Six also share a bath.”

Barney was shoving the suitcases into the small closet. “What about a key?”

“Oh.” Judith's half-smile twitched. “Here, this is for the room. The other key is for the B&B. If you come in after ten at night, you'll have to unlock the front door.”

Barney's bushy eyebrows rose. “You don't keep this joint locked?”

Judith shook her head. “Not during the day. This is a very quiet neighborhood.”

Barney seemed amazed. “No break-ins? No burglaries? No crime?”

Judith shook her head. “No, it's very safe.” The Schwartzes couldn't see her cross her fingers behind her back. There had, alas, been a murder or two over the years, but only one had occurred on the premises of Hillside Manor. Of course, a killer had once stayed at the B&B. Two killers, actually. Or was it three? The disasters blurred in Judith's memory.

“Wow. It's hard to find a safe neighborhood in a big city these days.” Barney seemed overwhelmed as he accepted the keys.

His mother, however, was regarding the bathroom door with misgiving. “I prefer not to share. At my age, I need access to a bathroom at all times, day and night.”

Judith heard the authoritarian tone in Min's voice. More to the point, Judith understood the vagaries of the elderly. “Well…there's the bathroom just outside the door, and there's one off the entry hall where you came in just now.”

Min vehemently shook her head; the topknot didn't budge. “I want this bathroom locked on the other side.”

Judith also understood the obstinacy of the older generation. She remembered that Mr. and Mrs. Smith were in Room Three, the largest of the guest rooms. The price was a bit higher, and therefore, the visitors who stayed in Three expected the best of the amenities. Perhaps the Smiths would be sympathetic.

“I'll see what I can do,” Judith said.

Min, however, wasn't giving in, nor did Barney seem willing to mediate. Judith understood that, too. Barney probably had given up arguing with his mother forty years ago.

“Lock it now,” Min commanded.

Judith hesitated. “I'll make it worth your while,” Barney said, finally breaking his silence.

Judith sighed. “No, no. It's my job to make guests happy. I'll lock it, and hope that the Smiths are a considerate couple.”

“The Smiths?” Barney's bushy brows quivered again.

The faint sound of the doorbell could be heard from below. “Yes, the Smiths. Excuse me, I'll take care of this right now.”

Hurriedly, Judith went into the bathroom and locked the door from Room Three. Then, with a strained smile and a wave, she raced downstairs.

Renie had already opened the door. Two pretty young women in their mid-twenties stood on the porch, each holding what looked like brand-new suitcases and wearing sweatshirts, one of which read “Plays Well With Others.” The second shirt was emblazoned with “Runs With Scissors.” A blue and white airport shuttle was just pulling out of the cul-de-sac.

“Ms. Perl and Ms. Williams,” Renie announced. “Of Newark, New Jersey. This is your innkeeper, the redoubtable Mrs. Flynn.”

“Redoubtable?” murmured Judith with a questioning glance at Renie. “Hi,” she said in her most amiable voice. “Welcome to Hillside Manor.”

Both young women started talking at once, then burst
into giggles. “Stop it, Pam,” the willowy blonde said to the plump brunette. “You'll make Mrs. Flynn crazy.”

“You started it, Sandi,” Pam replied good-naturedly.

“Did not!” Sandi shot back, and they both lapsed into giggles again.

Sandi was the first to get herself under control. “Sorry. We teach preschool, and sometimes, when we're out of the classroom, we get to acting just like our students.”

“But we don't wet our pants!” Pam doubled over with laughter.

“Or worse!” Tears of mirth began to roll down Sandi's cheeks.

Judith tugged at her chin. “Ah…Would you like to take your things upstairs?”

Both young women stopped laughing at once. “Upstairs, downstairs, all around the big stairs, here we go!” they chanted together, and gave each other high fives when they'd finished.

“Sure,” said Pam.

“Let's go,” said Sandi.

The young women managed to stay composed while Judith introduced them to Room One, a cozy nook next to the stairs. The decor's bright red and pink roses seemed to suit the newcomers' personalities perfectly.

“You'll be sharing a bathroom with the Smiths from Room Three and Mr. du Turque from Room Two,” Judith explained. “If it gets too crowded, there's a bathroom downstairs off the entry hall.”

“No problem,” Pam declared. “We're used to sharing. That's what we teach our students.”

Judith felt relieved. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Smith would be equally obliging. “Great. The appetizer hour is at six, with wine, sherry, and juices. Is there anything else you need?”

Both young women were eyeing the closet. “Can you lock that?” Pam asked.

No one in Room One had ever made such a request.
Judith tested the knob. “I honestly don't know. I'd have to look for a key. Is it important?”

Pam and Sandi exchanged quick glances. “Not if you have a safe,” Sandi said.

“I do.” Judith offered Pam and Sandi a reassuring smile. “It's in the family quarters, though, so you'll have to give me whatever you want to put in it.”

Again, the two women looked at each other. “We'll get back to you on that,” Pam said. “Okay?”

“Sure. I'll be downstairs.” Judith left.

Renie was in the front parlor, nursing a bourbon and water. She had prepared Judith's Scotch, but the ice was melting. “Here's to Humpty and Dumpty,” Renie said, raising her glass. “I'm glad you're stuck with them and not me.”

“I get stuck with a lot of people,” Judith said, frowning at her highball. “These two are no problem. At least they're cheerful. By the way, when I mentioned drinks, I meant pop or tea.”

Renie cocked her head. “So I'm a mind-reader?”

“You know I shouldn't be sitting here drinking at this time of day,” Judith said, then glanced at the venerable grandfather clock that stood next to a tall bookcase. It was almost four-thirty. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“I didn't,” Renie replied. “Isn't the late afternoon usually a signal for drink 'em if you got 'em?”

“Not for me,” Judith retorted as the doorbell rang again. “See what I mean? Now they'll smell liquor on my breath.” She shot Renie an annoyed glance.

Pete and Marie Santori of Miami, Florida, looked as if they wouldn't have cared if Judith had appeared stoned out of her mind and in the nude. Their deeply tanned arms were entwined and they only had eyes for each other.
Honeymooners
, Judith thought, and offered the couple a bright smile.

“You're in Room Five,” Judith said after Pete and Marie had managed to let go long enough to bring in their two large pieces of luggage. “If you'd sign the register…”

“You do it, Pooky-wookums,” Marie urged with a poke in the ribs for her beloved.

“No, Diddlyumdoodles,” responded Pete, tickling his bride's chin. “Ladies—lovely ladies—loving ladies—first.”

After a few more exchanges of treacle, Pete finally signed in. He was tall, dark, and lean, with gold chains around his neck and a gold link bracelet on his right wrist. Judith was about to hand the Santoris their keys when Pam and Sandi came down the stairs. The two young women suddenly stopped just before the first landing.

Sandi screamed and Pam collapsed.

Pete and Marie charged past Judith and ran out through the front door.

J
UDITH'S FIRST CONCERN
was for Pam, whose huddled figure lay on the landing. Sandi had stopped screaming, but stood frozen with her fists pressed against her mouth. Renie had rushed into the entry hall, looking stunned.

“Get some brandy,” Judith called to Renie. “Pam? Pam?” She knelt next to the young woman, who was making whimpering sounds.

Sandi lowered her hands. “Pam's okay,” she asserted in a ragged voice. “She had a shock, that's all. It was a mistake. A big mistake,” Sandi repeated more loudly.

Pam opened glazed eyes. “A mistake,” she mumbled. “Stupid.”

Judith gently pulled Pam to a sitting position on the landing. “Don't exert yourself. Take some deep breaths.”

Sandi gave herself a shake, then edged past Judith and Pam. “I must apologize to those people,” she said. “They must think we're crazy.” She went outside, in search of the Santoris.

Renie returned with a brandy snifter, which Pam waved away. “I'm okay, honest. It must have been the angle coming down the stairs. I thought that man was someone else. An ex-boyfriend. He was a real pain. I'd hate to run into him again.” She uttered a little laugh.

“That's annoying,” Renie said. “I still run into some of my former boyfriends. In fact, I figure I run into more of them than I realize. I can only recognize the ones who still have most of their hair and some of their teeth.”

Pam managed to look interested. “It must have been different when you were dating,” she said in a wistful voice. “After ten years, I've yet to find a guy who doesn't have a good excuse not to get married. What's wrong with men these days?”

Renie, who was still crouching by the stairs, folded her hands in her lap. “My husband, Bill, says it's not what's wrong with men, but what's wrong with women. By liberating themselves, they've not only confused men, but robbed them of…”

“Here's Sandi,” Judith interjected, warding off another of her cousin's parrotings of Bill Jones, Ph.D.

Sandi's smile seemed forced. “Everything's fine,” she assured the others. “Those nice folks just laughed it off. I coaxed them back inside.”

“Hi again,” the voice and the wave were subdued.

Pete and Marie were no longer entwined, and despite Sandi's reassuring words, Judith thought the Santoris looked shaken. Of course they had a right to be upset; the preschool teachers must have frightened them.

“I'm always being told I have a double,” Pete said in an amused voice. “I must be a type.”

Marie nodded, then looked up fondly at her husband. “It's the chiseled features, the dark hair and skin, the sort of Greek god appearance.” She stroked his cheek for emphasis.

“Some god,” Sandi muttered, running her hands through her short blond hair. “I mean,” she added hastily, “some
kind
of god.”

Judith stepped back into her normal innkeeper's role. “If you could move, Pam, I'll take Mr. and Mrs. Santori up to their room. Thank you,” she added as Pam got to her feet and came down the last two steps to the entry hall.

Pete and Marie fairly galloped up the stairs ahead of
Judith. She could have sworn she heard Sandi whisper a very un-preschool-teacher-like word that rhymed with pick, crick, and trick. Not to mention lick, wick, and nick. Or click, tick, and kick. At the top of the stairs, Judith shook herself. She was beginning to think like Sandi and Pam.

“I'm sorry for your fright,” Judith apologized after showing the Santoris into Room Five with its canopied bed and pink rosebud wallpaper. “Ms. Perl and Ms. Williams teach preschool, and it appears that they're very excitable. Like their pupils.”

“No problem,” Pete said, placing a suitcase on a folding stand.

“Girls are always swooning over Pete,” Marie put in, “but now that we're married, he's all mine.” She smiled widely, which made her otherwise plain features light up.

Judith went through her litany, explaining about the keys, the bathrooms, the serving times. She had just finished telling the couple about breakfast when Pete asked who was staying in the adjacent rooms.

“This room is next to the linen storage room on this side,” Judith replied, gesturing with her left hand. “Room Six is vacant so far. We may have a late check-in.”

Pete seemed relieved. “That's great.” He turned to Marie and chucked her under the chin. “We can make all the noises we want tonight, Dooky-pooky.”

“You bet, tweety-sweety,” Marie responded, still wearing her brilliant smile. “Yum, yum!”

Wondering whether the lovebirds or the teachers would put her over the edge first, Judith went back downstairs. Renie was in the entry hall, speaking with a chunky black man whose bald spot shone like a tonsure.

“Roland du Turque, Kansas City,” Renie announced. “Is that Kansas or Missouri?”

“Missouri,” Roland replied in a soft, mellow voice, then held out his hand to Judith. “Ms. Flynn?”

Roland's quiet air and courtly manner acted as an antidote to her other guests' more flamboyant behavior. “I'm very pleased to meet you,” Judith declared. “You're in
Room Two. May I?” Her hand swept over Roland's large satchel and briefcase.

“No, no,” said Roland, his dark eyes twinkling. He sported a trim goatee and appeared to be in his early forties. “I can manage. Your associate here has been filling me in about the rules and regulations.”

“Oh.” Judith shot Renie a quick glance. “In that case, I won't bore you with repetition.” She gestured at the stairs. “Shall we?”

“Of course.” Roland bowed. “After you.”

A short hallway between Room One and Room Three led to Room Two. It had been a late addition, carved out of the too-spacious Room Three, and its windows looked out onto the cul-de-sac. Because it was small and narrow, the price was considerably less than for any of the other accommodations. The double bed had been squeezed into an alcove under the eaves, and was draped in gauzy green-and cream-striped material. To give the room a more airy appearance, Judith hadn't used wallpaper, but cream paint that matched the bed hangings.

“Charming,” Roland remarked, taking in the details. “Daguerreotypes. Most interesting.”

“They came from an old family album,” Judith said. “All the pictures were taken in Cincinnati, but they go back so far that I honestly don't know who these people are.”

Roland peered at the grouping of a half-dozen posed photographs. “Handsome people. Hearty. German?”

“Hearty,” Judith thought, was a tactful way of saying overstuffed and obese. “Probably. They're my mother's family. She was a Hoffman before she married my father, Donald Grover.”

“Ah.” Roland gave the pictures one last look. “Then I'll be joining you at six for the informal get-together?”

“That's right,” Judith replied. “Though I don't actually mingle. I think it's intrusive. Guests seem to do better on their own when it comes to getting acquainted.”

Roland du Turque concurred. After he had bowed her out of Room Two, Judith hurried back downstairs. Al
though it was only five-thirty, Pam and Sandi were in the living room where Renie had poured them each a glass of white wine.

“We're having a hot talk about toilet training,” Renie said, getting up from one of the two matching sofas in front of the fireplace. “Now that our three kids can finally go to the bathroom on their own, I wanted Pam and Sandi's advice on how to get them to clean the toilets.”

“They should be old enough to read the instructions on cleaning materials,” Pam said, now very serious. “Many of those compounds are highly dangerous.”

“Pam's right,” Sandi put in. “How old are your kiddies?”

“Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, and twenty-six,” Renie answered with a straight face.

Sandi covered her mouth with her hands and Pam broke into giggles. “No! We're not much older than that!” cried Pam.

“Older, younger,” chanted Sandi, reaching across the sofa to slap hands with Pam, “bigger, smaller, shorter, taller, inside we're all the same!”

Happily, Judith heard the doorbell. She hurried off to the entry hall, and found Mr. and Mrs. John Smith waiting on the porch.

“Just pulled in,” said John in a marked New York accent. “We drove all the way from Montana today. It started raining the minute we crossed the mountains, but it's stopped now.”

“The weather's like that around here,” said Judith. “Very changeable.” Guardedly, she studied the pair. John Smith was tall, rangy, and in his mid-forties. He had restless hazel eyes and a manner that suggested he was always on the alert. The suit he wore looked very expensive to Judith, perhaps an Armani, though there was a foot-long tear in the left pant leg.

Mrs. Smith, who also struck Judith as tense, was clad in a deep blue silk wrap skirt and a scoop-necked blouse. She was above average height, pretty in an artificial way, and
no more than mid-twenties. Judith began to wonder if Renie's earlier suspicions were correct.

“This is the wife,” John asserted, as if he could read his hostess's mind. “Meet Darlene, Mrs. Flynn.”

Darlene offered Judith a limp hand and a bogus smile. “Pleased to meetcha,” she murmured.

“Yes, of course,” Judith stammered. “Now if I could show you…”

John waved a bony hand. “We'll manage. Just tell us the room number.”

“It's Room Three, but I wanted to explain about the…”

“Later,” John broke in. “Come on, Darl, let's go.” He picked up one of their two large suitcases and headed upstairs, his movements surprisingly graceful. Darl followed with another bogus smile for Judith.

Hearing a dull thump on the front porch, Judith went to fetch the evening paper. As she opened the door, she saw one of the middle Dooleys, O. P., for St. Oliver Plunkett, wheeling away on his bicycle.

“Thanks,” she called, waving the paper.

In front of the Rankerses' house, the fair-haired teenager glanced over his shoulder. “Sure, Mrs. Flynn,” O. P. called back.

The diversion caused O. P. to lose control of the bike, which went over the curb and directly into the path of an oncoming car.

“O. P.!” Judith screamed. “Look out!”

The car, which had been going very slowly, was able to stop in time. O. P. righted his bike in the middle of the cul-de-sac, took a deep breath, and gave Judith a mortified grin. “That was close,” he shouted.

“It was my fault,” Judith said in a shaky voice. “I shouldn't have yelled to you. You're sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” O. P. replied, pedaling back toward the sidewalk. “But I need to deliver the Rankerses' paper.”

“It's a good thing nobody goes fast in this cul-de-sac,” Judith said, then became aware that someone was calling
to her from the car that had just missed O.P. Turning, Judith saw that the Ford Explorer bore Illinois plates.

“I said,” the pudgy woman in the passenger seat mouthed slowly, as if Judith was an idiot, “where's a place to stay?”

“Oh!” Judith hurried to the car. “Sorry, I was distracted. I'm afraid I caused our newspaper carrier to lose control of his bike.”

“This is one confusing neighborhood, especially with all these stupid hills,” the woman complained. “Do you know…?”

Judith interrupted. “Yes, Hillside Manor is the light tan house with the dark green trim on the other side of the laurel hedge. I own it. Do you need a reservation?”

The woman exchanged glances with the man at the wheel. “Yeah,” she responded. “You got room for us?”

Judith nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, we had a cancellation. Park in front of the car from New York next to the driveway, and come right on in.”

The woman and the man exchanged another glance.
Maybe
, Judith thought,
they think I really am a moron
. She could hardly blame them.

Renie was just taking her leave of the teachers. “Did I hear another scream?” she asked in a slightly bored voice.

Judith explained about the bike, and the newcomers from Illinois. “You usually aren't around when the guests arrive,” Judith added as Renie headed for the back door. “How come you're not rushing home to get dinner?”

“Believe it or not,” Renie said, grabbing her purse from the kitchen table, “Bill is cooking tonight. If he can find the stove, he may have another new hobby.” The screen door swung behind Renie.

The couple from Illinois was in the entry hall, along with their luggage, which consisted of a foldover, a large suitcase, and some kind of satchel.

“Malone,” said the middle-aged man, holding out a beefy hand. “I'm Mal and this is the wife, Bea. You got room for maybe a couple of nights?”

“I do,” Judith said, offering the Malones a gracious smile. “You'll be in Room Six. And you're just in time for the appetizer hour.”

“Appetizer hour?” Mal's leathery face screwed up in contempt. “What happened to the cocktail hour?”

Judith cleared her throat. “I don't serve guests hard liquor at Hillside Manor,” she said in her primmest voice. “It's a matter of insurance, not to mention legality.”

“Hunh.” Bea's jowls jiggled as she gave a disapproving shake of her head. “What kind of a state is this, anyway? Don't you folks out west have fun?”

“Upon occasion.” Judith still sounded prim, but felt a bit foolish. “Now if you'll sign in, I'll show you your room. I do serve sherry, however, along with the appetizers.”

“Sherry!” Mal was scornful. “What kind of fruitcake drink is that?”

“Shut up, Mal, sign the damned thing,” Bea ordered, tugging at the elastic waistband on her brown polyester pants. “I want to put my feet up for a few minutes. It's been a real rough day.”

Mal's leathery features softened. “You're right, kid. It's been a bitch. How much?” He pulled a worn leather wallet out of his back pocket.