Nutty As a Fruitcake (9 page)

If Joe did, he wouldn't admit it. “I sure as hell don't remember that those candles looked as if the mice had eaten them. What happened?”

“The mice ate them.” Judith held a white reindeer in her hand. Both its antlers were missing. “Some of these belonged to my grandparents. One year they stored them in the attic instead of the basement. I don't know why. But the mice got into them, and a few actually melted because the attic got so warm in the summer. That's why this lamppost tilts.” With a nostalgic smile, Judith displayed a crooked lamp standard made of green, red, white, and yellow wax. “This is older than I am.”

Joe tried to look impressed. “Cute,” he said. “I think I'll go upstairs and watch TV. This Shazri case is a drag. I hate it when you know who the perp is but the evidence is shaky. Woody and I feel like we're walking on eggs.”

Judith looked up from the carton. “That's another thing—there were needles all over the living room floor. Nobody ever walks on that carpet. It's even got a runner.”

“What?” Halfway to the entry hall, Joe had turned around.

“The Goodrich house,” Judith said, running a hand through the pile of tissue paper to make sure she hadn't missed anything. “Why would there be fir needles on the living room
rug? Nobody was allowed in that room except extra-special company, which they hadn't had in years.”

Joe suppressed a yawn. “The firemen. The medics. The cops. Morgan and Rael.”

“It wasn't any of them,” Judith asserted as she placed an Eskimo couple on each side of their igloo. “Art was so rattled that he let the emergency personnel come in the front way. The fir needles were from the noble that Jeanne and Ted Ericson had lying in the joint driveway behind the house.”

Joe took a couple of steps back into the living room. “What are you trying to say?”

Judith had gone over to the fireplace, where she was arranging the candles on the mantle. “That maybe somebody else came in the house this morning. Whoever it was entered the usual way, through the back. He or she tracked the needles into the living room and the bedroom. Ted didn't bring the tree home until after eight.” She lifted her shoulders and gave Joe a quizzical look.

“Maybe it was George. He went outside, then came back in and went into the living room.” Joe's round face was ingenuous. “Simple, huh?”

But Judith didn't agree. “George never went in the living room. It wasn't permitted. Of course, if Enid was already dead…” She rubbed at the back of her head. “No, then there would have been blood on the carpet. Art told us there was blood all over both his parents.” Judith winced at the thought.

“Give it up, Jude-girl.” Joe's voice had grown tired.

“This afternoon George said he didn't kill Enid,” Judith said doggedly. “He also tried to say something else. It sounded like ‘key.' They kept a key in one of those phony rocks outside. Maybe somebody took it and came in and…”

Joe threw up his hands. “I'm going to watch something that makes sense, like
America's Favorite Home Videos
. I should make one of my wife, going around the neighborhood with a magnifying glass, looking for cigarette butts and scraps of paper with mysterious phone numbers. Scratch the sable coat—I'm getting you a deerstalker for Christmas.” Joe headed upstairs.

Judith sighed, then returned to her task. She had almost finished when she heard a knock on the French doors. As she crossed the length of the long living room, she could make out the figure behind the rectangular panes: It was a tall, blond male in a down jacket. His hands were shoved inside his pockets, and in the deep December shadows of the porch, he looked vaguely sinister. Suddenly anxious, Judith stood rooted on her side of the double doors. Then she recognized Dooley.

“Dooley!” she cried, yanking open the right-hand door and beaming. “You've grown another foot! Are you home for Christmas?”

Aloysius Gonzaga Dooley lurched into the room, grinning widely. “I sure am. We start our semester in August. I'm off until January. Hey, Mrs. McMonigle, what's this about Mrs. Badbitch?”

In his previous incarnation as the neighborhood paperboy, Dooley had been fascinated by crime. For a couple of years, he had been a member of the police auxiliary. But as he grew up, his interests had widened. This past year he had enrolled at a small private college on the other side of the state. Judith hadn't seen Dooley since early spring, before she and Joe had gone on their trip to England.

“Want some pop?” Judith asked after insisting that Dooley sit down on one of the matching sofas. “Or beer,” she added, remembering that her guest was no longer a mere boy.

“Pop's fine,” Dooley said, stretching out his long legs under the coffee table. “Mom's agog. What's happening?”

After fetching a soda for Dooley and herself, Judith recounted the terrible tragedy in the cul-de-sac. “I tried to call your mother earlier today, but she wasn't home,” Judith finally said after she had wrapped up her account. “I didn't want to leave such a gruesome message on the answering machine.”

Dooley nodded. “She was probably picking me up at the airport. Wow, this is unreal! That old lady was totally mean. She was always complaining that I threw the paper into her flowers or missed the porch or some dumb thing. She reported me a bunch of times to the local manager, but he knew what
she was like. I used to watch her and Mr. Goodrich through my telescope when they were out in the backyard. She was always nagging the poor guy. That's how I learned to read lips. Sort of.” Dooley tried to look modest.

“Do you still have the telescope?” Judith remembered it well, particularly from a certain misadventure involving Gertrude in the altogether.

Dooley chuckled. Maybe he was remembering Gertrude, too. “Oh, yeah. My brother, O.P., uses it a lot. He's almost twelve.”

O.P. was Oliver Plunkett Dooley, and, like his brother, he had taken an alias to avoid ridicule as well as comparison to the saints for whom he had been named. While the Dooleys had lived behind Hillside Manor and the Ericsons for almost thirty years, Judith still didn't know exactly how many children the family had or what their real names were. As soon as a couple of them grew up, new babies seemed to appear. The assumption was that they were grandchildren, but their constant presence at the Dooley house indicated they might as well have been replacements.

“Well, darn,” Dooley said, leaning his sharp chin on his hand. “It doesn't sound like there's any mystery this time.”

“Don't tell me you'd want to help solve it if there was,” Judith said, unable to keep from sounding sly.

Dooley shrugged. “Why not? It's good exercise for the brain. Oh, I'm not going to go into law enforcement or anything like that. I'd rather study philosophy and teach at the college level.” He suddenly looked older and just a trifle dignified. “But I wouldn't mind matching wits with a killer. Especially one right here in the neighborhood. Everybody's involved, right?” As if tugged by a magnet, Dooley's eyes strayed across the room to the front door. Beyond it lay the Stein house, and the Steins' enchanting daughter, Brianna.

“Brianna's not home from college yet,” Judith said, unable to hold back. “I think the school she's attending in California is on the quarter system.”

Dooley flushed ever so slightly. “Could be,” he said, then
took a sip of pop and assumed a worldly air. “But the local Methodist university isn't.”

Judith's eyes widened. Naturally, the Porter house was next to the Steins'. “Gabrielle Porter? Dooley, you're fickle!”

Dooley grinned. “Brianna's dating some studly guy she met in California. He's all bleached out and tanned and buff. Mrs. Stein showed Mom a picture. Besides, Gaby's quite excellent. Remember how she used to be all pigtails and big teeth and skinny legs? That changed.”

Gaby Porter had indeed changed. The little girl known as Lean Bean was now an eighteen-year-old semi-goddess. Fleetingly, Judith thought of Brianna, of Gabrielle, of Leigh. All three were products of the neighborhood, directly or otherwise. Judith hadn't yet seen the grown-up supermodel Leigh, but it was obvious that the cul-de-sac had produced natural wonders besides splendid trees and lush flowers. Judith felt a pang of envy for the trio's youth and beauty.

But Dooley was feeling curious. “So what makes you think Mr. Goodrich is innocent?” he asked, exhibiting more understanding for Judith's intuition than Joe had.

“Because he says so,” Judith replied. “Yes, I realize that people who come out of a Dalmane-induced state are often confused, even deluded. But tell me, Dooley, can you see Mr. Goodrich taking a hatchet to Mrs. Goodrich?”

Dooley was mature enough to reflect on the concept before answering. “Well…maybe. But he's a really nice guy. O.P. was saying that when he sees Mr. Goodrich through the telescope talking to that Mrs. Swanson his whole face gets full of sunshine. At least,” Dooley added with a shrug, “that's how O.P. puts it. He's still a kid.”

“Really.” Judith's voice was soft. “That's interesting.”

Dooley, however, was concentrating on the murder itself. “If Mr. Goodrich didn't do it, how come he took those pills?”

Judith frowned. “I don't know. Somebody might have given them to him. In coffee, let's say. There were two empty mugs in the kitchen sink.”

Dooley drew his long legs up to his chin. “How many would it take?”

“I don't know. Enid had all sorts of pills in the cupboard. I assume Dalmane was one of them.”

Dooley rocked back and forth on the sofa. “Whoever did it—assuming it wasn't George—would have to come in, drug him, and then kill Enid, right?”

Judith considered. “Probably. But as I told you, I think he said something about a key. Maybe whoever it was used the key in the fake rock to get in.”

“Could they hide in the house?” Dooley traced something in the air. “I'm trying to remember what I could see inside with my telescope. It's been a while.”

“They could hide in the living room,” Judith said dryly. “Nobody ever went in there. Plus, there are two other bedrooms. I've never seen them, but I know they're there. One's in the basement. That was Art's. Glenda's was on the main floor.”

Dooley polished off his pop. “This is cool.” He suddenly looked apologetic. “I don't mean that in a good way, Mrs. McMonigle. But it's…interesting.” Unwinding his long legs, he stood up.

“I think so,” Judith said. “And by the way, it's Mrs. Flynn now.”

“Oh!” This time, Dooley flushed all the way to the roots of his blond hair. “I keep forgetting! You married Lieutenant Flynn. He's cool, too.”

Judith nodded. “Yes, he is. Most of the time.”

“I'll be working on this,” Dooley said, heading for the French doors. “It'll keep my mind active while I'm on break.”

“Good,” Judith replied, noting that the rain had finally stopped. “Say hi to the rest of your family.”

“I'll do that.” Dooley ambled off toward the fence that separated Hillside Manor from his parents' property. With a dazzling leap, he was up and away and out of sight.

Judith smiled to herself. She had failed to convince Renie and Joe that George Goodrich was innocent. Dooley had proved more reasonable. She had cause to feel smug. An ally had been secured. At least until Gabrielle Porter finished finals.

R
ENIE WAS EXUBERANT
. She stood in the cool night air and all but jumped up and down. “It's great, coz! Your village is absolutely wonderful! I feel like I'm right there in a nineteenth-century New England town. If only I were a midget.”

Judith couldn't help but be pleased by her cousin's admiration. It was almost nine o'clock on Thursday, the second day of December. Renie had stopped by on her way from a Christmas decoration meeting at church. She not only praised the miniature town but lavished kind words on the rest of the cul-de-sac.

“It looks so festive,” she declared, her eyes darting from the Rankers' Holy Family to the Porters' rooftop Santa to the Steins' tasteful bulbs, and then to the other side of the street with Mrs. Swanson's delicate fairy lights and the Ericsons' charming carolers. If the darkened Goodrich house bothered her, Renie didn't say so.

“How do your guests like it?” she asked, moving to the Rankers' lawn for a closer view of the Nativity scene.

“This is the first night everything's been set up,” Judith replied. “It will be even better when the indoor lights are on and the trees are decorated. I've only got four guests tonight anyway. Weekday business will pick up around the thirteenth.”

Renie was pointing to the laurel hedge that separated the Rankers' property from Hillside Manor. “Look—I like the way they've got the camels' heads poking out of the shrubbery. But where are the Wise Men?”

“In the hedge,” Judith replied. “They're shorter, so you can't see them. Yet.” She still had qualms about Arlene's concept. “There aren't any carpet cleaners, though. The hardware store doesn't carry them.”

Renie turned a quizzical face to Judith. “Huh?”

Judith laughed. “I forgot, you weren't at our neighborhood meeting. Arlene said she wanted the Nativity scene to include the carpet-cleaners. It turned out that she meant the Wise Men's attendants. Sometimes they're depicted carrying Oriental rugs. You know, ‘We three kings of Orient are.'”

“Are rug salesmen?” Renie shrugged. “Maybe they were. That might be how they got so rich. Bill and I priced new carpeting this fall and the estimates were sky-high.” She turned to gaze the length of the cul-de-sac. “What are you going to do about the sign that Ted had made?”

Judith grimaced. “Well…the police put somebody on duty at the Goodrich house for the first twenty-four hours, but he left this evening before dinner. Nobody else has been around, so I thought…ah…maybe…er…”

Renie went right to the point. “Why not? Enid's dead, and I'll bet George won't come back.”

Judith gave her cousin a grateful smile. “I didn't want to sound crass. And of course I'll have to ask the other neighbors what they think. Joe says they might let George out on bail, but if they do, I'd guess that he'll stay with either Glenda or Art.”

“What else has Joe heard downtown?” Renie inquired, now back at the edge of the New England village.

“Not much. He hasn't had time. If he calls home today, I'm going to beg him to find out about the hatchet.” Judith straightened one of the villagers who apparently had been blown askew by the wind that was coming off the bay. “Fingerprints, too. Or signs of anyone else being on the premises.”

“So you're still trying to exonerate George.” Renie sighed,
then turned solemn. “The hatchet bothers me. It's pretty gruesome. Maybe it wasn't a hatchet. Maybe it was a meat cleaver.” The thought didn't seem to cheer Renie.

Judith was staring up at the sky. A few clouds were passing overhead, but she could see a scattering of stars. All around them, the big old trees sighed and groaned. Despite the recent tragedy, the cul-de-sac seemed peaceful.

Or did, until a van careened around the corner, turned with a screech, and pulled up in front of the Ericson house. Startled, the cousins stared as three people got out and hurried to the Goodrich house.

“Who's that?” Renie asked, shivering as the wind began to blow harder.

“I can't see,” Judith said. “It's too dark. It looks as if they're heading for the Goodriches'. Unfortunately, a couple of my guests are parked in front of George and Enid's house. But that van doesn't belong to either Glenda or Art.”

The squeal of tires had brought Arlene Rankers and Gabe Porter outside. They were both questioning the cousins when the lights went on in the Goodrich house.

“I've seen that Ford E-250 before,” said Gabe, who was an expert on automobiles. “It must belong to one of the grandsons.”

Arlene set her chin. “We can't be sure. Let's go over and see what's going on. It might be looters.”

“I don't think so,” said Gabe, thoughtfully stroking his trim mustache. “Didn't you say they went around back? That sounds like family.”

Judith was about to agree when someone emerged through the front door, carrying a chair. Arlene set out at a run. The cousins and Gabe Porter dutifully followed, but at a slower pace.

“I don't like getting mixed up in this,” Gabe murmured. “If that's the grandsons, one of them works with me at United Foods.”

“Oh?” Judith regarded Gabe with interest. “I didn't know that. Which one?”

“I'm not sure of his first name,” Gabe admitted. “He
hasn't been there long, but he's the one who's losing his hair.”

“That would be Greg,” Judith said. “I think.”

Just as Arlene reached the communal driveway, someone else came out of the house, carrying two lamps. Judith was now able to recognize Dave, who was wearing a windbreaker and a baseball cap turned backward.

Arlene already had confronted Greg, who was putting the chair in the back of the paneled van. “Where are you taking these things?” she demanded.

Greg peered out from under the hood of his duffel coat. “Why do you care? It's our stuff.”

Arlene stamped her foot. “No, it's not. It belongs to your grandfather. You put those things back right this minute!”

Greg's brother had joined him, juggling lamps and looking annoyed. Hurriedly, he slammed the van's rear doors shut. “What's happening? Who are you?” Greg glanced from Arlene to Gabe to Renie to Judith. “Wait—weren't you at the house yesterday?” The question was directed at Judith.

“We're all neighbors,” Judith replied, “except my cousin. But she was with me yesterday when we came to help…”

“Guys!” The sharp female voice cut through the chilly air. “Give me a hand with this armchair. I can't get the stupid plastic off of it.”

Under the porch light, Judith could see a tall young woman with tendrils of honey-colored hair swirling around her head and face. Taking two steps closer, she saw the strong yet feminine features and the wide-set blue eyes. The hair didn't really swirl, Judith realized; rather, it had been cultivated to frame the beautiful face.

Nervously, Greg looked up from his position at the rear of the van. “You don't need an armchair, Leigh. It'll cost you to ship it back east.”

“I can afford it.” Leigh's voice held a note of arrogance. “I always liked it because it's so ugly and we were never allowed to sit in it. I'm going to remove the stuffing and plant ivy in it and set it out on my roof garden.”

“That's dumb,” Dave said, putting the lamps in a cardboard box. “I like that armchair. I'll take it and the couch, too. My
apartment's got about two sticks of furniture.”

“
Our
apartment, man,” Greg put in. “We want the bedroom set, too.”

“Like hell,” snapped Leigh. “I covet that dresser and the bureau. They're antiques. You can have the twin beds.”

Arlene hadn't recovered from having her authority ignored. She now stood on the porch between Greg and Leigh. “You're all out of order. Who gave you permission to strip this house?”

Arlene was above average in height, but Leigh was almost six feet tall. Her shiny silver boots had high heels, so that when she spoke, the words were directed at the top of Arlene's head. “Who'll stop us? This is family stuff. Butt out, Mrs. Do-Gooder.” With a flip of her artistic tendrils, Leigh went back inside the house. Her cousins followed.

“Barbarians!” shouted Arlene as the front door slammed in her face.

Gabe was shaking his head. “I don't like this. You're right, Arlene. It may not be looting, but it sure is greed. What if George comes back? These grandkids will have cleaned the place out.”

Judith turned to Renie. But Renie had wandered over to the van and was bending down, looking in the gutter. She saw Judith and came back to the sidewalk.

“Did George say ‘key'?” Renie asked in pretended innocence. Opening her hand, she displayed what looked like a house key. “I found it in the gutter in front of the Ericsons', under some leaves.”

Judith stared at the key. There were traces of dirt, but otherwise it was shiny. “I wonder,” she mused, fingering her chin. She turned to Gabe. “You don't have a flashlight, do you?”

“On me?” Gabe grinned. “No, but I can get one from the garage real quick.”

“Get a plastic bag, too.” As Gabe headed across the cul-de-sac at a semi-jog, Judith turned to Renie. “Don't move. Just stand there and hold that key exactly the way you've got it now.”

“Jeez,” Renie grumbled, “what do I look like, one of your village characters?”

“What about those awful grandchildren?” Arlene raged. “Are we going to let them pillage the Goodrich house?”

“We sure aren't. We're going to call the police.” Judith threw Arlene and Renie a smug look, then hurried down the sidewalk. “I'm getting Joe.”

 

Joe didn't want to play cop. He was in the third floor family quarters, sitting in the den with his feet up and watching a vintage Bogart movie.

“Send Bogie,” he told his wife. “Better yet, send Peter Lorre. I'm off duty and I don't want to put my shoes on.”

“Come on, Joe,” Judith pleaded. “Those Goodrich kids are pillaging the place. They can't be allowed to get away with outright theft.”

Joe clicked the TV volume up a notch higher. “I'm Homicide, not Larceny. Wait until they kill somebody.”

Judith turned grim. “Maybe one of them already did.”

“What?” Joe tore his gaze away from the screen. “Hey, don't start that again!”

“I'm not,” Judith replied calmly. “Renie found a key in the street by the Ericsons'. It may fit the Goodriches' back door. Come on, Joe, give those kids a scare. If nothing else, it'll show them they can't take what isn't theirs.”

For several moments, Joe kept his eyes glued on Bogart, Lorre, and Mary Astor. Their predicament over a ceramic bird didn't seem half as interesting to Judith as what was going on in the cul-de-sac.

“Joe…” She was verging on a whine.

The movie cut to a commercial. Grumbling, Joe slipped his feet into his loafers. “They aren't kids. I've seen Art's sons. They have to be in their late twenties.”

“They probably are,” Judith agreed. “Which means they ought to know better. Hurry, Joe. It won't take them long to fill that van.”

Judith was right. The Goodrich house was dark again when she and Joe reached the cul-de-sac. The van's lights were on,
however, and a stream of exhaust could be seen on the cold night air.

“They're leaving!” Judith cried, now running into the street. “Stop!” she yelled. “Stop or we'll…”

It was the van that stopped, just shy of the corner. Arlene also had given chase, but was now teetering indecisively in front of Mrs. Swanson's house. Gabe Porter was coming from his garage, carrying a flashlight. Renie stood quietly at the edge of the Goodrich and Ericson driveway, her right hand extended as she kept the key in its palm. The van's rear end suddenly tilted to the right.

“They've overloaded it,” Judith said as she stopped next to Renie.

“Maybe.” Renie seemed unusually passive, which Judith recognized as a dangerous sign.

Joe was now moving carefully but purposefully up to the driver's side of the van. Judith started to follow him but stopped and stared at Renie.

“What did you do?” she asked, as the meaning of her cousin's demeanor sunk in.

Renie gave Judith a tight little smile. “You didn't really think I was digging around in the gutter searching for clues, did you? I just happened to find the key after I punctured the right rear tire.”

Judith broke into a wide grin. “Coz! You scamp! How'd you do it?”

Renie nodded in the direction of the curb. “With the steak knife I found lying under the rest of the leaves. I was going to use my nail scissors, but they weren't tough enough. I left the knife because I didn't want Arlene to blab it all over the neighborhood.” Renie gave Judith a meaningful look.

Judith's grin had faded fast. “A knife?” she breathed. “Was Enid killed with a knife?”

Greg had gotten out of the van and apparently was trying to explain the situation to Joe. Arlene had edged closer but wasn't as yet interfering. Joe gestured toward the Goodrich house; Greg turned in that direction, then gave a jerky nod. A female voice yelled something unintelligible from the van.
Dave got out on the passenger's side and was immediately collared by Arlene.

“What now?” Gabe Porter murmured.

The instantaneous response was the appearance of Mrs. Swanson on her porch, Ted Ericson coming through his gate, and the Steins charging down their front steps. Leigh jumped out of the van, then charged Arlene. Arlene kicked Leigh in the shin, just above the top of her shiny silver boot. Dave ducked for cover in Mrs. Swanson's yard. Joe backed up a few paces until he was in the middle of the cul-de-sac.

“It's all right, everybody,” he shouted. “We've got a flat tire here, nothing more. If we all simmer down, there won't be any more trouble.”

Judith marveled at the authority in her husband's usually mellow voice. After an exchange of muttered threats, Arlene and Leigh moved away from each other. Dave looked up from under Mrs. Swanson's silver spruce. The Steins stopped at the curb in front of their house. Ted Ericson paused, then closed his gate and presumably went back inside. Mrs. Swanson, however, remained on her porch.