Legs Benedict (3 page)

“Eighty dollars, which includes tax,” Judith replied.

“Eighty bucks! No booze! Sheesh!” Mal counted out four twenties and gave them to Judith. Then he put on a pair of thick glasses and bent over the registry. It seemed to take him a long time to get around to signing his name.

“You full up, you said?” asked Mal, putting his glasses away.

Judith nodded. “Yes. The last of the reservations arrived just a few minutes before you did.”

Again, the couple exchanged glances. “The Smiths,” Mal said in a noncommittal tone.

“How did you know?” Judith asked in surprise.

Mal shrugged his broad if somewhat rounded shoulders. “That's the name on the line above us.”

“Oh,” Judith responded in a small voice. “I thought perhaps you knew them.”

Mal drew back as if he'd been insulted. “Hell, no. Not those Smiths. Sure, I know some Smiths. Who don't? Why should I know these ones?”

“Well…No reason,” Judith said with an apologetic smile. “I mean, I thought maybe you were traveling together. We often get friends or families who come by car and…”

“So which room?” Mal broke in. “Us, that is. I see they're in Three.”

Somehow unsettled by the comment, Judith hesitated. In the living room, she could hear Pam and Sandi, singing some of their children's songs to the tune of the baby grand. Judith hoped they'd have the good sense to shut up when the other guests began arriving for the appetizer hour.

Which, she realized, as Roland du Turque came down the stairs, was upon them. “I'll be right back,” she informed Roland. “The sherry and juices are already on the gateleg table.”

“Sheesh!” Mal muttered. “Juices! You got a decent saloon around here?”

“Yes,” Judith replied, starting up the stairs. “There are two nice pubs on top of the hill, and several excellent restaurants, including the Hexagon, although it caters mostly to the young.”

“Pubs?” echoed Mal, puffing a bit as they reached the second floor. “
The young
? I'm talking about a place where you can tie one on.”

“Try the bottom of the hill,” Judith said between clenched teeth. “There are several bars down there.”

“Hills!” exclaimed Bea. “Where'd all these blamed hills come from? I thought this city was on the ocean.”

Opening the door to Room Six, Judith shook her head. “We're on the Sound. The ocean is a hundred miles away.”

“Hunh.” Bea pulled at her tan mock turtleneck. “This sure isn't what I expected. We're from Chicago, we got a
big lake. No hills. But plenty of saloons. Right, Mal?”

“Right.” Mal was surveying the lilac chintz decor. “Jeeesus! This ain't like no motel I ever saw!”

“It's not a motel,” Judith said crisply. “It's a B&B. Would you prefer a motel?”

Abruptly, Mal turned to face Judith. “Huh? No, this is just the ticket. A B&B. Right, Bea? And Bea! Ha-ha!”

Bea laughed, though without mirth. “Yeah, Mal, a B&B. That's where we want to be.
Ha, ha
.” She sounded sarcastic, even bitter.

Judith rushed through the usual information, including the shared bathroom with Room Five. “They're honeymooners,” she added. “They're very…sweet.”

Bea made a face. “We were honeymooners—about two hundred years ago. We went to Lake Winnebago so Mal here could fish.”

“Didn't catch much, either,” Mal said, more to himself than to Judith or his wife.

“You sure didn't,” Bea responded with a trace of acrimony.

Judith decided it was time, perhaps past time, to take her leave. “I'll see you downstairs,” she said, nipping through the door.

The Smiths were just coming out of their room. Judith gave them a cheery smile. “I'll have the hors d'oeuvres out in five minutes,” she promised.

“Don't worry about us,” John said, the roving hazel eyes checking out the second-floor hallway, the stairs, and the partial view of the entry hall. “We're going downtown for dinner. You got any recommendations?”

Judith did, not only personal favorites, but a collection of reviews she'd clipped and copied from newspapers and magazines. “My husband and I prefer the Manhattan Grill in the financial district,” Judith informed the Smiths as they reached the first floor. “Since you're from New York, you might enjoy one of the seafood establishments with a view. We like Andrew's by the ferry dock or the Bayshore, which is at the foot of the bluff and overlooks the harbor.”

“They sound swell,” John responded, now eyeballing what he could see of the dining room and living room. None of the other guests were visible from that angle, but Judith could hear the piano. The children's songs had somehow evolved into classic jazz.

“Do you need directions?” Judith asked as the Smiths started out through the front door.

“Naw,” John replied, a hand on Darlene's shoulder. “We'll manage.” The couple left.

Judith rushed to the kitchen, retrieved the hors d'oeuvres from the refrigerator, and punched in numbers on the microwave. While the crab puffs and miniature lamb kabobs heated, she got out an oval platter for cheese and crackers. Five minutes later, she was balancing the serving dishes in both hands, and announcing that the food had arrived.

So had Barney and Min Schwartz, who were engaged in conversation with Pam Perl by the bay window that overlooked the harbor. Sandi Williams was standing by the piano, while Roland du Turque continued to play a jazz medley.

“Thelonious Monk,” Judith said in a worshipful tone as she approached the piano at the far end of the long living room. “‘Round Midnight.' ‘Criss Cross.' And…” She cocked her ear, then smiled broadly. “‘Epistrophy.'”

His hands still plying the keys, Roland smiled back. “You're a buff.”

Judith pointed to the built-in stereo system and storage space on the other side of the bay window. “I have several of Thelonious Monk's recordings, mostly old LPs. I think I discovered him before the rest of the world did, back in the early fifties.” Judith laughed aloud. “I remember telling my Auntie Vance I wanted one of his records for my birthday. When I didn't get it, Auntie Vance said that nobody at any of the music stores had records put out by the Loneliest Monk.”

Roland chuckled, a deep, rich sound that somehow was in harmony with the notes he was playing. “They found out soon enough who that fine musician was.”

Judith nodded in agreement, and was about to add more of her jazz memories when Mal and Bea Malone entered the living room. Reluctantly moving away from the piano, she approached the couple from Chicago.

“I thought you were going out,” Judith said, wearing her innkeeper's smile.

“We are,” Bea answered, reaching for the appetizers. “But we thought we'd grab some snacks first. We're paying for 'em, aren't we?”

The Malones weren't the first rude guests to stay at Hillside Manor, which, if she had to be candid, was why Judith preferred not joining in during the social hour. Her training as a bartender at the rough-and-tumble Meat and Mingle had inclined her to react strenuously to bad-mannered visitors. In the first three months of her tenure at Hillside Manor, Judith had threatened to break the punch bowl over a foul-mouthed guest's head, called the cops on a couple trying to set the lace curtains on fire, and thrown a woman who had attacked Sweetums with a butter knife into the Rankerses' hedge. She still marveled how she'd managed to stay in business, but assumed the perpetrators were too embarrassed by their behavior to talk about it. Thus, Judith merely inclined her head at Bea Malone, despite the fact that Mal was scooping up half the crackers and cheese.

“Where's everybody else?” Mal asked, stuffing a handful of crackers into the pocket of his windbreaker. “I thought you were full up.”

“I am,” Judith replied. “Here come the Santoris now.”

Pete and Marie descended the stairs arm-in-arm. Mal and Bea both turned to stare, then exchanged yet another glance. Indeed, Judith thought that Mal had given a faint shake of his head.

“You sure this is all of 'em?” Mal asked as the newlyweds approached the gateleg table.

Judith offered the pair a smile. “One of the parties went out for dinner,” she replied, then grabbed the hot appetizer plate and presented it to the Santoris.

“The Smiths,” murmured Bea.

“Yes,” Judith said as Marie oohed and aahed over the selections. “The Smiths.”

Mal tugged at Bea's sleeve. “Let's go.”

“Sure,” Bea responded, filching two puff pastries from the plate. “We might as well.”

After the Malones had left the room, Marie nudged Pete. “Will we be like that in twenty years, Tickles-wickles?”

Pete grimaced. “I hope not, Googley-woogley.”

Judith said nothing. It wasn't appropriate to criticize guests in front of other guests. As she set the serving plate back down, she saw Joe Flynn come through the swinging doors between the dining room and kitchen. He looked annoyed, and was motioning to Judith.

“What's wrong?” she asked, hurrying around the big oak table that had belonged to her grandparents.

“Some jerk just flipped me off in the driveway,” Joe said, keeping his voice down. “Kind of a burly guy, maybe a little younger than I am. The woman with him was pretty burly, too.”

Judith gave Joe a quick kiss, then heard the squeal of tires outside. “The Malones, of Chicago,” she whispered. “Not my favorite type of guests. Why did they flip you off?”

Removing his lightweight summer blazer, Joe shrugged. “I don't know. I guess he thought I was going to run over them when I pulled into the drive.”

Joe usually took off his jacket and holster in the back hallway, but the incident with Mal Malone had changed his routine. With alarm, Judith noticed the holster and shoved Joe back through the swinging doors.

She was too late. Barney Schwartz had come into the dining room. He saw the gun in the holster, let out a yelp, and grabbed Judith around the waist.

“If you shoot,” Barney yelled, using Judith as a human shield, “the broad with the striped hair gets it! My number isn't coming up yet!”

Judith's heart sank and Joe's jaw dropped.

But Barney Schwartz's hold remained in place.

“T
AKE IT EASY
,” Joe said, keeping his voice calm. “I'm not going for the gun. Let go of my wife. Nobody has to get hurt.”

Judith tried to wrestle her way out of Barney's grasp. “Please, Mr. Schwartz,” she implored, “you mustn't be afraid. My husband is a policeman.”

Barney's grip tightened. “Oh, yeah?” he responded. “Back off, creep. I mean business.”

Joe held himself in check. “I'm an
off-duty
policeman. Let go of my wife, or I'll be forced to call the neighborhood patrol car.”

Little by little, Barney Schwartz relinquished his hold on Judith. He looked shaken, however, and his eyes went straight to his mother, who, along with the other guests, had rushed into the dining room.

“What is this?” Min demanded, rigid with apprehension. “What have you done to my poor boy?”

“Not a damned thing,” Joe retorted, finally losing his calm demeanor and reaching out to put an arm around Judith. “Your poor boy tried to take my wife hostage. Guests or no guests, you better have an explanation.”

Awkwardly, Barney shook himself and gave his mother a sheepish smile. “It's okay, Ma. I just had a little scare.” He turned back to Joe. “Sorry. I thought
you were two other guys.” Barney took Min's hand and tried to slip it inside his arm. “Come on, let's get a sherry refill.”

Min yanked her hand away. “I want to know what's going on.”

Barney patted his mother's cheek. “Nothing, Ma, honest. I just…screwed up. You know how I get…when I
don't take my medicine
.”

“If you say so.” Min appeared skeptical as her cold gray eyes swept from Barney to Joe. “You're a policeman?”

“That's right.” Joe was removing the offending holster and sidearm. “Just an ordinary civil servant, working a dull desk job, and inching toward retirement.”

Min drew back a step. “You need a gun at your desk?”

Joe shrugged. “It's required on the force. What's this about medication?”

Barney opened his mouth, but Min elbowed him aside. “My son has some health problems. Occasionally, he becomes delusional, even paranoid. I'll make certain he takes his pills.”

Joe appeared to be reflecting upon Min's words. “Okay,” he finally said. “You do that. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs to change.”

Judith followed her husband up the back stairs to the family quarters on the third floor. “Nice lie,” she said, and meant it. The Flynns tried to avoid informing guests that Joe was a homicide cop. Somehow, the job didn't mesh with the romantic image of a B&B.

“Which one?” Joe asked as he removed his highly-polished loafers and put them on a shoe rack in the closet. “Mine or the old bag's?”

“I meant yours,” Judith responded. “It's possible that Mrs. Schwartz is telling the truth.”

“I wonder.” Joe started emptying his pockets. “Who is that jerk, anyway?”

“His name is Barney Schwartz,” Judith answered, sitting down on the bed. “That was his mother, Minerva. They drove here from Royal Oak, outside of Detroit. Other
than that, I don't know anything about them. You know perfectly well I don't ask for character references when I take reservations.”

“Right,” Joe said, but he seemed perturbed. “I don't much like it when a guest sees a gun and thinks there's a bullet in it with his name on it. It tends to make a fellow suspicious.”

“I told you,” Judith asserted, “they're from the Detroit area. Don't they have a high crime rate? Maybe Barney has been involved in previous incidents.”

“Previous,” Joe repeated, heading for the bathroom. “That's okay. I don't mind previous behavior. It's priors, as in convictions, that I worry about.” He closed the door, leaving Judith with an uneasy feeling.

 

It rained while Joe and Judith ate dinner, but let up shortly after seven. Remembering the cake Renie had left, Judith set it out for her guests on the gateleg table along with a coffee urn. It appeared that everyone had gone out, and the house was quiet. As she tidied up the living room, she noticed a small piece of paper under the piano bench.

It appeared to have been torn from a little spiral notebook. The handwritten words read, “Legs-Hoffa-Provenzano?”

Puzzled, Judith slipped the paper into the pocket of her gray slacks. She not only didn't know what it meant, she wasn't sure who had dropped it. Judith recalled that Pam, Sandi, and Roland had been at the piano, and so might have Barney and Min or Pete and Marie. If the note was of any importance, Judith told herself, the person who dropped it would ask. Over the years, guests had mislaid an incredible number of items, from a portable toilet to an eight-month-old baby. As Renie had said, there couldn't be too many surprises left for Judith when it came to innkeeping.

Then again…Judith smiled to herself as she put on her jacket and went out to the garage. She'd had a quibble with Renie's remark at the time. Now, as she headed up to Holiday's Pharmacy on top of the hill, she was anxious to tell
her cousin about Barney Schwartz using her as a human shield. If it didn't take long to pick up Gertrude's prescriptions, Judith would drive the remaining six blocks to Bill and Renie's house on the north slope of Heraldsgate Hill.

At ten to eight, Judith was in the Joneses' comfortable green, blue, and off-white living room. “Where's Bill?” Judith asked, surprised at not finding Renie's mate in his favorite chair in front of the TV.

“I sent him out to be reupholstered,” Renie said. “After we painted this spring, he was the only thing in the living room that didn't match.”

Sitting down in a powder-blue recliner, Judith laughed. “Where is he really?”

Renie scowled at her cousin. “You think I'm kidding? Maybe I should switch job categories, quit graphic design, and go into interior design. Do you realize that of all the permanent fixtures in a house, women complain most about their husbands? Every time, they tend to screw up the decorating scheme. You're lucky—you get to keep Joe in the attic.”

Reaching for the footrest on the recliner, Judith put her feet up. “You don't sound as sanguine about retirement tonight as you did the other day. Don't tell me that after only two weeks, you're having qualms.” Though Joe's retirement was still months away, Judith already had doubts about a change in lifestyle.

“Actually,” Renie said, “Bill's at a meeting. He's still acting as a consultant to the psychology department at the university. And no, I haven't any qualms. For one thing, I'm used to having Bill home during summer quarter. For another, we live on different clocks. He's a morning person, I'm best at night. He goes to bed early, I get up late. It gives us some time to ourselves.”

Briefly, Judith reflected. She and Joe were forced to get up at the crack of dawn. Maybe that would change when he retired. But Judith didn't want to think about that now. Though she was a worrier, she sometimes tended to bury
her head in the sand and avoid dealing with potential problems.

“How was dinner?” Judith asked, changing the subject.

Renie's eyes roamed the off-white ceiling. “It was something with leeks. One of the kids gave Bill a Welsh cookbook for Christmas last year. Everything in it seems to have leeks. It's the national fruit or flower or…
bulb
, I guess, of Wales.”

Judith gave Renie a knowing smile. “You're cooking tomorrow night?”

Renie nodded. “Grandma Grover's greenie noodles with lamb steaks.”

“I make that every so often,” Judith replied. “Thick egg noodles fried with cabbage in about half a pound of butter. Mother loves it.”

“So do Bill and the kids,” Renie said, then tapped her can of Pepsi. “You want something?”

Judith declined. “I can't stay, I never like leaving the B&B alone too long when guests are coming in and out. Which is sort of why I came. This is a really odd crew.”

Since Renie already knew about the preschool teachers' reaction to Pete and Marie Santori, Judith described Barney Schwartz's panic and the rude behavior of the Malones, who seemed more than a little interested in Mr. and Mrs. John Smith.

“Oh,” Judith added, “I almost forgot Mr. du Turque. You met him—it turns out he's quite a piano player. Jazz, especially Thelonious Monk.”

“Right up your alley,” Renie commented. “Nice.”

Judith agreed. “So why do I have the feeling that some of these people know some of the other people from someplace else?”

“Because you want them to?” Renie paused to light a cigarette. “Solving puzzles is your avocation, coz. Connect the dots.”

“There may not be any,” Judith admitted. “But almost all of them act strangely. The Smiths, for example, don't seem anxious to run into the other guests.”

“I don't blame them from what you've told me,” Renie said dryly. “And yes, I know you've had some very peculiar—and dangerous—guests on occasion in the past. Which is why I'm inclined to believe you may be exaggerating. History doesn't always repeat itself. Pam and Sandi insisted they'd made a mistake. It sounds like Barney Schwartz did, too. Did you say he mentioned taking medication?”

Slowly, Judith nodded. “Somehow, that didn't sound right. But I tried to tell Joe that Barney comes from Detroit, and may have met up with some tough customers. I don't think I convinced Joe, and now I'm not sure I convinced myself. I'd be willing to bet that tomorrow at work, my suspicious husband will run Barney through the computer.”

“He's done that before with some of your guests, hasn't he?” Renie asked, calmly puffing away.

“Yes. For various reasons.” Judith hesitated. “There's another thing, which I mentioned to you last week—the time frame in which those reservations were made.”

Renie glugged down a large portion of Pepsi. “You said they all came in within a couple of hours of each other. But was it
all
of them?”

“No,” Judith admitted, “it was only the Smiths, the Schwartzes, the Santoris, Pam and Sandi, and some guy who canceled later. It was an odd name, like a ship. Doria, I think. He was from Las Vegas.”

Renie waved a hand. “So in reality, only four of the parties who checked in today made their reservations Friday morning.”

“Well…” Judith cleared her throat. “Yes, that's true. Roland du Turque called later and the Malones showed up this afternoon without a reservation.”

“I don't think that sounds so strange,” Renie said, getting up to adjust the floral drapes at the big front window. “You can't tell me that over the years you haven't had other people call in within minutes of each other for the same date.”

“They probably did. This time it just struck me as…
odd.” Judith suddenly snapped her fingers. “How did the Malones know where to find the B&B?”

Renie wrinkled her pug nose. “Ever hear of the
phone book
?”

Judith didn't let Renie's comment daunt her. “When they pulled into the cul-de-sac, they didn't ask for Hillside Manor, they asked if there was a place to stay. Now how would they know such a place existed in a residential neighborhood?”

“Your point being…?” Renie seemed a bit impatient.

Judith started to respond, then stopped, apparently losing her zeal. “I'm not sure. It just seems odd.”

“Naturally.” Renie was obviously humoring her cousin. “Now try to tell me that a month never goes by when you don't have at least one wacko check into the B&B.”

“Okay, okay,” Judith said as she stood up. “I'm going now. You make me feel like an idiot.”

“My pleasure,” Renie said blithely, then put an arm around Judith. “I just hate it when you go off the deep end, imagining stuff that isn't really there. To me, it's a sign of some big hole in your life. We all have them, but sometimes I think yours is deeper than most. Maybe it was all those years with Dan. Even Joe can't make up for two lost decades.”

Put that way, Judith could offer no argument. Nobody except Renie understood what she'd gone through during her first marriage. Having taken on Dan McMonigle as a sort of consolation prize for losing Joe Flynn, Judith had always felt as if the package had been booby-trapped. But Renie, who was as close, maybe closer than any sister could be, had ended up as Judith's sole confidante. It would have been impossible for Judith to share the pain—and humiliation—with anybody else.

“Maybe,” Judith said with a lame little smile, “what's missing is my common sense.”

Renie gave Judith a little shake. “Not that. We're all missing a few things.” Wistfully, she gazed up the stairs in the direction of her children's bedrooms. “At least you
have some hope of posterity. I do not. Yet.”

Judith broke into a big smile at the reference to her only child's impending parenthood. “You will. Did I tell you that Mike called over the weekend and said they may have miscalculated, and that Kristin could have the baby a couple of weeks early?”

Renie beamed. “Great! Grandma Flynn! What's the revised due date?”

“July second,” Judith replied. “Of course, you never know with first babies.”

Mike and his long-time girlfriend, Kristin, had been married exactly two years. As National Park Service forest rangers, they had begun their legal life together in Idaho. But seven months later, the newlyweds had been transferred to a national park site just an hour away from Heraldsgate Hill. They were so close that Judith smiled every time she looked out at the mountain range mere minutes from her doorstep.

“Tell me,” said Renie, looking troubled, “does the new addition mean a change in your thinking about…you know.”

Judith shook her head. “I made up my mind about that when Mike and Kristin got married. I've said it before, I'll say it again—Dan was a crappy husband, but he was a good father, the only father Mike ever knew. I won't take that away from Dan—or from Mike.”