All the Pretty Hearses (16 page)

“You’re right,” Renie said. “I should’ve caught that. I guess I was concentrating too hard on which Paine I’d stab first.”

Addison had been taking more notes. “But we don’t know what most of them do for a living. We can check the Internet. Want to do that now or are you two exhausted?”

“Well . . .” Judith was torn. She was definitely tired and her brain wasn’t up to full speed. For once, exhaustion trumped curiosity.

Renie was rummaging in her purse. “Tomorrow is another day,” she said. “It’s after nine-thirty. I’m going to call and see if Bill’s home yet. It shouldn’t take him long to get from the pavilion. Uncle Al has a special VIP parking permit.” Finding her cell, she got up and went out into the hall.

“I should head home,” Addison said. “I’m beginning to feel like a nonpaying guest.”

“Oh no,” Judith declared. “You’ve more than earned your keep.”

His expression was ironic. “Only by fetching and carrying.” He sighed. “I owe you an explanation. I was hoping to find out something about the elusive story I’m trying to break. From what I gathered about Joe’s . . . let’s call it willing detention at police headquarters, I assumed some of the answers might be here. Or that you’d know more than you actually do. Your reputation as FASTO has grown over the years.”

Judith shook her head. “A reputation I never sought. But thanks for not calling me FATSO. I’m not holding anything back. Joe has kept me in the dark about this whole mess.”

“That was the other thing,” Addison said. “When I realized you didn’t know much about it, I wondered if he thought you were in danger.”

“You mean from my guests?”

“Possibly,” Addison hedged. “Even though the Paine bunch has taken off, I still think they’ve got something to hide. It may be only some typical skeletons in the family closet. But I keep thinking back to that last meeting with Zachary Conrad. For all his apparent composure, he was definitely suspicious of my motives during what was a routine interview. Maybe I’m imagining it, but in retrospect, he seemed relieved when I left.”

“You’re a good judge of character,” Judith said. “That’s a useful trait for a journalist.” She stopped as Renie came back into the living room. “Well? Did you run down Bill?”

“No,” Renie said, leaning on the back of the sofa where she’d been sitting. “I called four times. Bill has been known to ignore the phone, but I’ve always told him that if I really needed to get hold of him, I’d keep trying until he picked up.”

Judith checked the grandfather clock. It was about to chime the quarter hour at nine forty-five. “Overtime?”

Renie shook her head. “I called the
Times’
sports hotline. We lost, sixty-four to fifty-one. That doesn’t sound like OT.” She reached down to pick up her purse from the sofa. “I’m going home. For all I know, Bill turned off the ringer. Except,” she added in a woebegone voice, “I don’t think he knows how to do it. Maybe he finally carried out his threat to throw the phone into the street.”

Addison stood up. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Renie stiffened. “Why? Do you think I’m in danger, too? I couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversation while I was waiting for Bill to answer the phone.”

“Well . . .” Addison glanced at Judith and shifted from one foot to the other. “Maybe we should all go.”

“Oh, for . . .” Renie slung her purse over her shoulder. “Never mind. This is dumb. I’ll call as soon as I get home. Okay?”

“Coz . . .” Judith began, but Renie was already out of the room. “She’s probably right. Bill simply isn’t answering. He’s worse than my mother when it comes to the telephone.”

Addison sat back down again. “I’d better stick around, at least until we hear from Renie.”

“Okay. I’ll empty the dishwasher. I think that last load is done.” She walked more slowly than usual back through the hall, the dining room, and into the kitchen. She’d just opened the dishwasher when Addison joined her.

“Got any garbage to take out?” he asked.

“Look under the sink. Didn’t you already take out some bags?”

“Yes, but there was a lot of stuff—the actual garbage, recycling, glass—”

“Stop. I get dizzy remembering what goes where. The city keeps changing the rules. Why don’t you write an article about that? We may’ve pioneered recycling around here, but it’s getting out of control.” She touched some silverware and realized it was too hot to handle. After Addison had collected two plastic bins from under the sink and headed outside, she went to the kitchen window to see what the weather was doing. It appeared to have stopped raining, though it was hard to tell. The night was pitch-black dark. Too dark, she realized, noticing that none of the Rankerses’ lights were on. Although they were usually early to bed and early to rise, they generally watched TV upstairs until around ten. Maybe Arlene wasn’t joking about taking Carl to the ER. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that her neighbor had sounded serious. Judith picked up the phone and dialed their number, but got their recorded message. She was wondering what to do next when Addison came back inside.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look worried.”

Judith stepped aside so he could replace the garbage bins. “I can’t get hold of the Rankerses,” she said, and explained that she thought Carl must be sicker than she’d realized. “Occasionally it’s hard to tell with Arlene. I love her dearly, but every so often she says something that isn’t quite . . . accurate.”

Addison looked concerned. “Should I go see if they’re home? What does their car look like?”

“Cars,” Judith said. “An older Mercedes coupe and a black SUV.”

“Are they in the garage?” he asked, heading for the back door.

“No. They use the garage for storage. One of their daughters is in real estate and keeps her staging furniture and decor in there. Go the other way. If they’re home, both vehicles should be in the driveway.”

“Okay. Be right back.”

The phone rang just as Judith heard the front door close. She snatched the receiver from the counter. “Coz?” she said, seeing her cousin’s home number on the screen. “Are you okay?”

“Yes—and no,” Renie replied, not sounding like her usual bristly self. “I’m home, but Bill isn’t. That’s so strange. My husband is the most responsible, predictable person in the world, midwestern to the core. I’m worried sick.”

“If he’s with Uncle Al, they may’ve gone somewhere with one of his buddies. Bill’s at Uncle Al’s whim, since he drove them to the game.”

Renie was silent for a moment. “True—except we don’t know if Bill ever found Uncle Al.”

“Even if he didn’t,” Judith pointed out, “he wouldn’t have stuck around this long. He probably had to call a cab and that could take a while after the game.”

“You’re talking bilge,” Renie snapped. “I checked—the game was over at nine-twenty. That’s almost forty-five minutes ago. Furthermore, I’ve rarely seen taxis pulling up by the pavilion. It only holds around ten, eleven thousand, and the parking lot is enormous.”

“How about a bus?”

“You really are out of it tonight,” Renie snarled. “I’m hanging up and calling the cops.” She disconnected.

Judith’s shoulders sagged. Her cousin was right. In her own defense, it had been a long day—a long week, too. She simply couldn’t cope with another crisis.

Or so she thought until Addison entered the kitchen. “The rest of the house is dark and the SUV is gone,” he said. “What do think has happened to the Rankerses?”

Chapter Fourteen

J
udith reeled against the refrigerator. “Good God! I can’t stand it! Bill’s missing in action, too. Along with Uncle Al. What . . . should . . .” She staggered over to a kitchen chair and collapsed.

“Hey,” Addison said quietly, “if Carl had to go to the ER, he may have a long wait. It’s Friday night. Casualties pile up. I know, I used to cover the police beat in my younger years.” He eased into a chair opposite Judith. “Where would they have gone?”

For a moment, she couldn’t remember. “Norway General,” she finally recalled. “Not the one on Pill Hill, but across the ship canal. That’s where Carl was taken years ago when he was painting the house and fell off the scaffolding. He broke his arm and his leg.”

“Hmm,” Addison mused, “guess he shouldn’t have stepped back to admire his work. Do you want me to call the ER? I can use my reporter’s credentials.”

Judith tried to get her brain in order. “Let’s wait. You’re right. They probably didn’t leave until after six. We should focus on Bill and Uncle Al.”

Addison glanced at his watch. “It’s just ten. They may’ve gotten stuck in traffic. Maybe one of the bridges was up. I assume Renie is upset. Is she an alarmist by nature?”

“No.” Judith paused, still collecting her thoughts. “Renie’s a lot of things, but not an alarmist. Under that somewhat fiery nature, she’s rather coolheaded. It sounds like a paradox, but it really isn’t.”

A sudden silence fell between them. It seemed to Judith that the
tick-tock
of the old schoolhouse clock was unusually loud. It also seemed that Renie was right—her brain wasn’t working properly. It was scattered, like Grandma Grover’s broken bowl: fragments of Joe exiled at police headquarters; pieces of Uncle Al and Bill missing in action; shards of Renie pacing the floor; chunks of dead horse in the garage.

Addison finally spoke. “Tell me more about Uncle Al.”

It took a moment for Judith to focus on the query. “Uncle Al? Does the name ‘Al Grover’ mean anything to you?”

After a brief pause, Addison grinned. “Al Grover—a name from my youth. I didn’t realize he was
that
Al. I guess I never heard you mention his last name. Big high school and college basketball star. Quite a reputation as hotheaded and scrappy. Played football and baseball, too. Coached both college and semipro in the pre-NBA era. Became a referee for college and high school basketball games. Owned a watering hole or two downtown. Active in the Teamsters. Chummy with at least a couple of sheriffs and several cops. I actually saw him ride with the sheriff’s posse in a parade once when I was a kid. Good-looking guy, too. Did he ever get married?”

Judith shook her head. “He’s had a longtime girlfriend, Tess of the Timbervilles, we call her. Really a lovely woman, and an heiress to one of the timber companies around here. Over the years, Uncle Al had women chasing him everywhere he went, but he liked to play the field—in every sense of the word.”

“Interesting,” Addison said thoughtfully. “Maybe this isn’t a coincidence after all.”

Judith stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

Addison made a face. “It’s hard to explain. There’s been a rumor going around City Hall that some strange things have been happening at a fairly high level. Certain records disappear. Personnel changes for no apparent reason. A couple of usually reliable sources clamming up. There’s an aura of unease that raises my reporter’s hackles. I’ve been around long enough to know when something’s brewing. But I can’t nail it down. It’s like catching snowflakes to study before they melt.”

“So where would Uncle Al come in?”

“I don’t know,” Addison admitted, “except he’s always been . . . connected. So to speak.”

Judith took offense at the remark. “Uncle Al has never gotten so much as a traffic ticket!”

“No,” Addison said. “He wouldn’t, would he?”

She lowered her eyes, remembering her uncle telling the other relatives about being stopped for speeding. The patrolman had taken one look at his driver’s license—and apologized. Another time a game warden had discovered an over-the-limit salmon catch in Uncle Al’s boat. He recognized the would-be perp—and winked, adding that it was incredible how fast the other two guys had gotten back to shore. There were more such incidents stored in her memory bank, but Judith didn’t care to retrieve them. Addison had made his point.

“Restaurants,” he said quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself. “Bars. Taverns.” His gaze fixed on Judith. “Do you know anything about the food-and-beverage business?”

Somehow, Judith’s brain seemed to revive. “Are you kidding? I was part of it for a long time—too long. My first husband, Dan McMonigle, owned the Meat & Mingle out in the Thurlow area.”

Addison looked startled. “You’re kidding!”

“Believe me, that’s not a topic I kid about,” she said bitterly. “Dan lost both the business and our house. Then he stopped working altogether and died at forty-nine, leaving Mike and me virtually destitute. Why don’t you just pour a glass of gall and I’ll drink it?”

“God,” Addison said, rubbing his forehead. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just . . . surprised. I had no idea.”

Judith leaned forward, one arm resting on the table. “Do you want to tell me that Dan was mixed up in something crooked I didn’t know about? Am I about to get arrested, too?”

“No, no,” he protested. “I mean, even if your late husband had done anything dodgy, the statute of limitations would’ve run out by now.”

“I worked nights tending bar at the Meat & Mingle,” Judith said. “I was never aware of Dan doing anything illegal.”

“You wouldn’t be. I mean,” Addison went on hastily, “it wouldn’t have anything to do with the bar. Not directly, that is. I have to ask, though: Did any cops hang out at your husband’s restaurant?”

Addison’s query annoyed Judith so much that she couldn’t think clearly. “Not in uniform. There may’ve been some county police. We were officially outside of the city. Are you saying there’s a history of corruption on the force?”

“Did Joe ever talk about it?”

“Well . . . nothing that you might call scandalous. He knew certain cops who weren’t above accepting what he’d term more of a thank-you from grateful citizens. Some got caught, some didn’t. I always assumed it was easier for the top dogs to turn a blind eye. Joe never did. Neither did Woody. I’d take an oath on that. There were also a few disciplinary actions taken over the years. Maybe some dismissals. I ran into members of the force who were lazy, stupid, self-aggrandizing, even borderline criminals.” Judith paused, recalling at least two or three incompetent, even bad cops she’d met along the way. “Every so often there’d be a shooting that was questionable in terms of the danger an alleged suspect posed. They always seemed to result in an investigation and in a couple of cases the cops were either suspended or fired. Joe wasn’t one to bad-mouth his fellow law enforcement coworkers, even to me. Of course he held them in contempt, but that didn’t mean he’d rat them out. I suppose there were incidents he never—”

The phone rang. Judith had to get up to retrieve the handset from the counter. Once again, Renie’s number appeared on the screen.

“Yes?” she said, her voice raised.

“I found Bill and Uncle Al,” Renie shouted angrily. “They’re being held at police headquarters. I’m going there now. G’bye.” She hung up before Judith could say another word.

Addison had stood up. “I heard that. Renie didn’t need to use the phone. We could’ve heard her without it. Shall we join her?”

Judith heaved a huge sigh. “Why not? I can’t stay here and walk the floor all night.” She set the phone back in its cradle. “I should tell Mother we’re leaving. But I don’t know what to say. She’ll have a fit.”

“I’ll tell her,” Addison volunteered, already headed for the back hall. “We can take my car.”

“Okay. Wait—what kind of car is it? I’ve never noticed.”

“An aging Land Rover, tan in color. It’s out front. Meet you there.” He grabbed his jacket and left.

Judith made sure everything in the kitchen was turned off and that the back door was locked. She took two Excedrin for the recurring headache, realized she hadn’t eaten in hours, and grabbed some of the leftover carrots and celery from the platter she’d served to the guests. Finally, she put on her jacket, went out the front door, and took her time walking to the Land Rover. The doors were locked. Judith nibbled on some celery. The air was chilly, but the rain had stopped. A few moments passed before she saw Addison hurrying in her direction.

He unlocked the car without saying anything until they were both inside and he’d turned the ignition key. “I can park in the press area, but I’ll drop you off so you don’t have to walk so far. You can meet me by the elevators.”

“Okay,” Judith said, gripping her purse tightly in her lap. “I suppose Renie’s already there.”

“Probably.” He pulled out of the cul-de-sac and turned onto the cross street leading to Heraldsgate Avenue. “I’m not sure what we can do except find Renie and see what’s up with Bill and Uncle Al.”

“What about Joe?”

“One thing at a time,” he said, waiting for an opening in traffic at the intersection. “We don’t want your cousin to get arrested for assaulting an officer, do we?”

“No.” She paused as Addison turned onto the steep avenue. “What did you tell Mother?”

“That we were going dancing.”

Judith looked at Addison to see if he was kidding, but he was concentrating on the red light three cars ahead of him. “How did she react to that?” she finally asked as the light changed and they continued toward downtown.

“She thought it was great,” he replied. “She started to tell me about how she used to go dancing with your father at that old ballroom down on Second Avenue. Unfortunately, I had to tactfully cut her off. Your mother’s a real treasure trove of local lore.”

Judith considered asking if he’d ever seen the movie that had been loosely based on Gertrude’s life. The old lady had made some money from the moderately successful film, but she’d been rightfully horrified by some of her alleged adventures as “Dirty Gertie.” A different thought sprang into Judith’s mind. “Are you writing a book about the city?”

Addison chuckled. “Not yet. But someday I will. You can’t hang around City Hall for as long as I’ve done and not want to write a book about it, especially what went on around here before I was on the beat. Oh, I’ve done quite a bit of research off and on, but I’ll wait for retirement before I devote the time it’ll take to actually start writing.” As they stopped at another red light, he shot Judith a grim look. “That might come sooner than later. With newspapers losing readers by the cartload, they’ll cut staff—early and forced retirements.”

“That’s sad,” Judith declared. “I can’t imagine life without a newspaper.”

“There are plenty of people who can—and do,” he said. “Newspapers, alas, are dinosaurs.”

They had reached the city’s commercial core, where mannequins in resort clothes stood in the display windows at Donner & Blitzen, Nordquist’s, and I. Magnifique. Judith shivered, but wasn’t sure if it was from anxiety or looking at the skimpy bikinis. With or without snow on the ground, they seemed out of place in early January.

“Say,” she said suddenly, “did the police track down the supposedly paralyzed man’s caregivers?”

“The male one had yet to show up. He replaced a guy who was going off to Chile for a summer vacation. The woman vanished without a trace. Apparently, she never came back from her errands.”

“Good grief!” Judith cried in disbelief. “Doesn’t that make her suspect number one?”

“Possibly,” Addison replied, braking for a midblock red light by a converted movie house where theatergoers were exiting from a stage show. “It’s hard to trace somebody named Beth Johnson, the only name the cops found in the condo, without an address or phone number. The neighbor who heard the shots saw her only once and described her the same way Joe did.”

“That is beyond suspicious,” Judith said. “I don’t suppose the male caregiver knew anything about her.”

“No,” Addison replied, continuing up the avenue. “He came from an agency and had never heard of any Beth Johnson working there. It’s possible she was someone the vic knew, but since nobody knows who the dead man really is, it’s hard to track down.”

Judith sighed. “Somebody has worked very hard to cover their tracks. It’s more than frustrating.” She paused, shaking her head as they continued toward the new courthouse and the refurbished City Hall. “I assume Renie went where I did—directly to the police department.”

“Unless she planted a bomb in the lobby as a distraction.”

“All things are possible,” Judith murmured, glancing out at the gray granite elegance of the Cascadia Hotel, where she and Joe had spent many an evening of formal dress—and informal undress—in the days of their courtship some forty years earlier. “Maybe,” she said, even more softly, “they still are.”

“What?” Addison asked, stopping at the next red light.

Judith couldn’t answer the question. Instead, she blurted one of her own. “How long have you known Paulina Paine?”

“Oh. I should’ve known you’d figure that out, FASTO.” The light changed and he drove the next two blocks in silence before taking a right and then a left to get to City Hall’s main entrance, where he pulled up in a no parking zone. “I met her right after Amalia dumped me,” he said, not looking at Judith but staring straight ahead. “She and Andrew had separated. That was two years ago. She was against buying that big, expensive house in the gated community on the Eastside. They were having money problems as it was, and she wanted to stay in town. Then somehow Andrew managed to get his head above water. He begged her to come back. She reluctantly gave in, mainly because of the twins. Our fling was fairly brief, but it was . . . nice. I swear I didn’t know she was coming to your B&B. While she was separated, she used her maiden name of Markov, probably to show her distance from Andrew and the other Paines.” He finally looked at Judith. “No matter how big this city gets, if you’ve lived here all your life, it’s still a small town.”

“True,” Judith agreed. “I was best friends with a girl in junior high and we didn’t know we were related until I went to her house. I saw a picture of my maternal grandfather on a table in the living room. We were first cousins. I never knew my grandfather because he died fairly young, but Mother had the same picture.”