All the Pretty Hearses (5 page)

“That’s fine,” the young man said, handing back the license. “Go ahead.” He nodded toward the elevators. “Fifth floor, Mrs. Flynn.”

“Thank you.” Judith was pressing the button when it dawned on her that she hadn’t asked for directions. She turned around to ask how he knew where she was going, but he was checking through another visitor’s items. The elevator arrived. Judith got in and poked the fifth-floor button. According to the list of departments, Booking was one of the sections on five. As the car rose, her heart sank.
This can’t be real,
she told herself—but it was. The elevator slid open to reveal an area that—despite its cleanliness and fresh paint—felt like the entrance to Dante’s Inferno. Listings, arrows, a directory of the floor’s various departments in a dozen different languages overwhelmed her. Frustrated by what struck her as a criminal-justice maze, she approached a young dark-skinned woman at the reception desk.

“Yes?” the young woman said with a faint smile. “May I help you?”

Not in the way I want,
Judith thought,
unless you can rouse me from this nightmare.
She glanced at the woman’s name tag. “Yes, Darcy. I’m looking for my husband, Joe Flynn,” Judith said, trying to make her request discreet. She cleared her throat. “He’s a retired homicide detective with the department.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, seemingly enlightened. “So you think he may be visiting some of his old friends here?”

“Well . . . maybe. His longtime partner was Woodrow Price.”

Darcy smiled. “Oh,
Captain
Price. He’s assigned to the West Precinct. Mr. Flynn may be at the uptown station.”

“Actually,” Judith began, “I believe Captain Price may be—”

“Hold it.” Renie suddenly appeared next to her cousin. “Why are you standing here like the Statue of Liberty? Or is that a poor simile?”

“I was trying to find Joe, but . . .” Judith turned away from Darcy, making a face at Renie. “It’s not easy to find the right words.”

Renie shrugged. “Sounds easy enough to me.” She elbowed Judith out of the way and leaned on the counter that separated visitors from the hired help. “It’s like this, Darcy. Mrs. Flynn’s husband has had his butt hauled in as a murder suspect. Any idea where we might find the alleged killer or do I have to start a prison riot next door to get some info out of you? If you think I hate hospital food, you ought to see how I react to chain-gang chow.”

As she backed away from the counter, Darcy’s dark eyes had grown huge. Three of her coworkers were on their feet. Renie beckoned to the oldest of the trio. “You,” she said, pointing to the gray-haired man. “Two words. Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. But I have to whisper them.”

Reluctantly, the man approached the counter. He looked wary, but bent down so that Renie could speak into his ear. Judith, Darcy, and everybody else in the area stared as the man listened. After a moment, he stood up, nodded at Renie, and grinned at Judith.

“Let me check,” he said, turning to Darcy’s computer. “Take a left past the water fountain, then a right beyond the restrooms. Third door down just before the staff elevators. I’ll buzz you through.”

“Thanks,” Renie said, grabbing Judith’s arm. “We appreciate it.”

The automatic door swung open. The cousins were halfway down the first hallway before Judith could find her voice. “What on earth did you say to that guy?”

“Two words,” Renie replied. “Al Grover.”

“Oh, for . . . !” Judith had to stop and lean against the wall. “How did you know Uncle Al’s name would have that kind of clout?”

“Because I recognized the older guy,” Renie replied. “He’s the spitting image of his dad, Pete ‘Shuffle Up and Deal’ Petersen. Uncle Al used to sneak young Pete into all kinds of events, including the racetrack and the cathouse owned by one of the ex-sheriffs.”

Judith put a hand to her head. “And I thought I had a good memory for faces. I didn’t make the connection.”

“You were too upset to make anything,” Renie said as the cousins continued on their way. “Your mother could’ve been behind that counter and you wouldn’t have noticed her.”

“You’re right,” Judith admitted as they turned the first corner. “I was having a horrible time telling poor Darcy what I wanted. And how did you find a parking place so fast?”

Renie shrugged. “I used the mayor’s. He’s out of town this week. Or don’t you read the newspaper?”

“You could still get a ticket or towed away.”

“Then Uncle Al will have to fix that, too.”

“Maybe Uncle Al should’ve come with us.”

Renie frowned as they passed the restrooms. “Did you forget he’s in Vegas? He and Tess of the Timbervilles flew down Monday night.”

Judith sighed. “I did forget. I wonder why Uncle Al and Tess have never gotten married.”

“Maybe they have,” Renie said. “It’s more exciting at their age if they pretend they didn’t. Besides, he told me once he’d never marry Tess because she had too much money. Timber heiresses like to hang on to their loot in these days of curtailed logging, and Uncle Al would never want to be a kept man. It’d kill his incentive to make money in more exciting, if risky, ventures.”

“Sounds like Uncle Al,” Judith murmured, stopping at the door by the staff elevators. The door’s small window appeared to be one-way glass, preventing outsiders from seeing inside. “It says this is an interrogation room. We can’t just walk in.”

“Why not? We can interrogate them about their interrogation.”

“Coz . . .” Judith spotted a buzzer on the wall. “Let’s try this.”

It seemed like a long time before the door opened a few inches. A dark-haired young man in a pale blue shirt and loosened navy tie peered out at the cousins. “Yes?” he said, puzzled. “Who are you?”

“Mrs. Joe Flynn,” Judith replied in what didn’t sound like her usual confident voice. “Is my husband here?”

“Are you his attorney as well as his wife?” he asked.

“No, but . . .” Judith tried to peer over the young man but she couldn’t see anything but a wall. “Are you Detective Delemetrios?”

He nodded. “I’m in charge here and you have no right to be in this area. Please leave the same way you came in.”

He started to close the door, but Renie reached out and grabbed the detective’s tie. “Not so fast. Where’s Woody Price?”

Delemetrios tried to pull free, but Renie’s feet were planted firmly against the baseboard. “He’s . . . he’s on his way,” the detective replied. “Please. Go away before I call someone to—”

A voice called out from inside the room. “Hey! Is that my wife?”

Judith leaned closer to Renie. “Yes, Joe! Tell this guy to let me see you or Renie is going to strangle him with his own tie.”

“Simmer down, Serena!” Joe shouted. “Del’s just doing his job.”

Renie yanked at the detective’s tie. “He’s doing a damned crappy job of it. Either he lets Coz in, or,” she continued, her voice somewhat muffled as she leaned down and used her free hand to take a pair of nail scissors from her purse, “he loses his fifty-dollar tie.”

“Hey!” Delemetrios yelled, his face flushed, “my girlfriend gave me that for Christmas. It’s from Nordquist’s.”

Renie looked him in the eye. “Shirt, too?”

He seemed more worried than scared. “My parents gave me that.”

“I think it needs shorter sleeves,” Renie said, brandishing the scissors. “We’re having an unusually warm January.”

“Coz!” Judith cried. “Stop it! You’re going to get arrested, too. I can’t afford to bail both of you out.”

“No,” Renie said, her face set. She narrowed her eyes at the detective. “Well? Your new wardrobe or your suspect’s wife?”

Judith was about to grab Renie when Woody Price exited from the staff elevator. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the cousins, but swiftly regained his composure. “Hello, Judith, Serena.” His smile was a bit ragged around the edges as he approached them. “I don’t know exactly what to say. This is awkward, isn’t it?”

Judith kissed his cheek. “It’s a mess. I’m so glad to see you.”

Renie turned toward Woody and lowered the scissors, but held on to Delemetrios’ tie. “Got
Manon Lescaut
tickets?” she asked with an eager expression.

“Oh yes,” Woody replied. “Carol Vaness, opening night. Personally, I like the Puccini version better than Massenet’s.”

“Me, too,” Renie said. “That ‘in quelle trine morbide’ aria is enough to make it a deal breaker.”

Woody’s dark-skinned face virtually glowed with pleasure. “Oh my, yes, and then the tenor sings that amazing—”

“Enough!” Judith screamed, stamping her foot—and was immediately relieved that it was the one that wasn’t attached to the artificial hip. “Both of you stop talking about the damned opera and do something helpful! I’m about to have a nervous breakdown.”

Woody looked chagrined; Renie merely shrugged; Delemetrios appeared confused; Joe could be heard muttering a few choice cusswords from inside the interrogation room.

“Right,” Renie said, letting go of Delemetrios’ tie and flipping it back into his face. “I’ll back off now, Woody, and let you take over.”

“Yes.” Woody shook himself and assumed his usual serious professional expression. “If you don’t mind, let me speak with both the detective and . . . his person of interest.” He moved to the door. “May I?”

“Sure,” Renie said, stepping aside. “Nice meeting you, Del,” she added as the door closed behind both policemen.

“You,” Judith declared, “are a moron. I knew Bill should’ve come with me. You’re damned lucky that poor detective doesn’t charge you with . . . something.”

“He’s kind of cute, actually.” Renie put the nail scissors back in her purse. “Woody looks good. He’s aging well.”

“I’ve just aged ten years,” Judith said. “About the only thing that can divert Woody’s focus is opera, and you just
had
to mention it.”

Renie had the grace to look faintly sheepish. “Well—the first performance is only a couple of weeks away. You don’t often get to hear
Manon Lescaut
.”

Judith didn’t respond. Several minutes passed in silence. Renie paced a bit between the interrogation room and the stairwell at the end of the hall. It was impossible to hear anything through the door. Judith figured it was soundproofed. She leaned against the wall, trying to keep her anxiety at a manageable level. At least five minutes went by before Woody finally emerged, looking even more somber than usual.

“This is very strange,” he said, putting a hand on Judith’s shoulder. “Please try not to get unduly upset, but we’ve got a problem, which means we have to follow police procedure.”

Judith stared at Woody. “What do you mean?”

He grimaced. “It’s the weapon. The bullet matches Joe’s .38, and the gun has been fired very recently. I’m so sorry, Judith, but we’re going to have to file charges. Joe understands.”

Judith didn’t.

Chapter Five

T
hat’s crazy!” Judith cried, shaking off Woody’s comforting hand. “How could his gun have been used to shoot . . . whoever the dead man is?”

“That’s what we have to figure out,” Woody said. “Joe realizes what’s happening. I mean, as far as police work is concerned. We’ll do our best to keep this quiet until we have some answers.”

“And meanwhile?” Judith demanded, raising both hands in a helpless gesture. “Joe sits in a jail cell while I go insane?”

“Actually,” Woody said in a tone that sounded reasonable yet forced, “he thought maybe you should take a vacation.”

“A . . . ?” Judith stared in disbelief. “Are you nuts, too?”

Woody shifted from one foot to the other. “He told me about your trip back east and how you had a really busy fall, then the holidays coming right after you got back from Boston, and all the family doings and how worn-out you were”—customarily a man of fewer and more measured words, he paused to take a quick breath—“not to mention that January is your slowest month at the B&B, so it’d only make sense for you to take a break and maybe go—”

“Soak my head,” Judith finally interrupted. “No. I’m not taking time off. Joe’s afraid I’ll get mixed up in this whole insane homicide situation. He wants me to butt out, right?”

“Well . . .” Woody made a face. “He worries about you. Especially if he’s not around to look after you.”

“Why can’t I bail him out?”

“Ah . . . that’s kind of awkward.”

“How so?” Judith demanded.

Woody rubbed at his walrus mustache, but couldn’t quite meet Judith’s fierce gaze. “We agreed it might be better if he stays in jail. Given the complexities of the situation, it’s the safest place for him.”

“Oh, great!” she cried. “You’re afraid somebody’s going to bump him off!”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Woody protested. “It’s more like . . . let’s put it this way. If he’s free on his own recognizance, Joe will try to solve the case himself. That’s not smart if he’s really been set up.”

Judith was incredulous.
“If?”

“I mean,” Woody said, finally looking Judith in the eye, “if it’s an intentional setup aimed at Joe, instead of a more random thing.”

“Wait.” Judith’s brain had begun to function again. “If the bullet came from Joe’s gun, somebody stole it. That sounds personal. Did or did not Joe have his weapon with him when he was arrested?”

Woody gazed at the ceiling, but said nothing.

Judith sighed. “Okay. I’ll shut up for now. Can I at least see my husband or is he already in solitary confinement?”

“Of course not,” Woody said. “As soon as Del finishes up in there,” he went on, nodding toward the interrogation room door, “you can go in.”

“Great,” Renie said to Woody. “Then we can talk about Puccini.”

His smile was off center. “Right. I’d like to do that. In fact,” he said, turning to Judith, “I’d like to do just about anything but what I’m doing now. This captain’s job is . . .” He glanced again at Renie. “
‘Sola,
perduta, abbandonata’
describes it best.”

Renie nodded. “Manon’s final aria. So moving. So apt.”

Judith gave Woody a shove. “Skip the weepy opera stuff and do your job. I’ve got guests arriving in an hour or so.”

With a heavy sigh, Woody entered the interrogation room and closed the door behind him.

“Why,” Judith said, “do I feel like strangling you, Woody,
and
Joe?”

Renie was still looking wistful. “Maybe because you’re upset?”

Judith shook her head and turned her back on Renie. Of all the strange, confusing, and even dangerous situations that she’d found herself in over the years, this was the worst. When Renie had been briefly considered a murder suspect, it had seemed more ridiculous than frightening. At least her nutty cousin had never been arrested. Even having Joe and Bill apparently get kidnapped in Scotland hadn’t been as upsetting as the current crisis. The occasional face-off with desperate killers was a piece of cake by comparison. This time Judith felt as if she’d hit bottom.

“Helpless,” she murmured, staring down the vacant hallway.

“Huh?” Renie said.

Judith didn’t turn around. “Helpless,” she repeated louder. “I feel helpless. And you’re no help at all.”

“Sorry.” Renie sounded uncommonly meek. “Should I go home?”

“How,” Judith responded, finally turning to look at her cousin, “do I get home? In a paddy wagon?”

“Oh. That’s right. Joe’s MG is in your garage. How about a cab?”

Five more minutes passed in silence. Renie had wandered down to one end of the hall and then back to the other. Judith wished she could sit down. The headache that had come on shortly after her departure from Hillside Manor was now impossible to ignore. Digging into her purse, she reached for the cache of medications she carried for emergencies. Just as she found the small plastic pillbox, Woody came out of the interrogation room.

“Judith,” he said solemnly, putting his hands on her shoulders, “Joe and I think it’s better if you don’t talk to him right now. He’s going to call you later after we’ve sorted through some things. You have to be patient. I’m sorry. Really.”

Looking into Woody’s dark eyes, she knew he was sincere. “I don’t have any choice, do I?”

He shook his head.

“Okay.” Her expression was resigned. “I guess Renie and I will go home. Say hi to Sondra for me.” Moving away from Woody, she started back down the hall, paying no attention to Renie and Woody’s brief farewell exchange.

Neither cousin spoke until they got to the elevators. To Judith’s surprise, Renie kept going, past the reception counter and through the opposite corridor from the one that had led to the interrogation section.

“Why are you headed this way?” Judith asked.

“Because I’m parked on the east side of the building in the mayor’s slot and it’s on the fifth-floor side,” Renie replied in a reasonable voice. “You came in on the ground floor on the west side of the block.”

“Oh.” Judith tromped along behind Renie, but stopped at a water fountain long enough to take the Excedrin that was beginning to dissolve in her hand. When Renie reached the parking area, she patiently waited for Judith to catch up.

“You okay?” she asked Judith with what sounded like real concern.

“I guess I have to be,” Judith replied glumly. “I don’t have much choice, with the Beard-Smythes showing up to spend the night.”

“The . . .” Renie stopped just short of the Joneses’ Camry. “You mean from church? Why are they coming?”

“They ran out of gas.”

“Highly unlikely,” Renie said, “unless they’ve been bragging more than usual about how they’re so upper class and stinking rich. If they tithe at church, I’m Mother Teresa.”

“Whatever.” Judith waited for Renie to remove a piece of paper from the car’s windshield.

“Hunh,” Renie said. “It’s a ticket.” She stuffed it in her purse and unlocked the car. “Who
is
our mayor? They all look alike to me.”

“Larry Apples,” Judith said, getting into the car. “
Appel,
I mean.”

“Whatever,” Renie said, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Apples, oranges, who cares? Our mayors rarely do anything except screw up.” She patted the dashboard. “It’s okay, Cammy. It’s not your fault. You just took up the mayor’s space, which is about all he does in his office. The ticket’s not much more costly than a legal downtown parking spot.”

Judith tried to ignore her cousin’s jabbering. A glance at her watch told her it was exactly three-thirty. Unless some of her guests arrived early, she’d get home in time for the four
P.M.
check-in.

Apparently Renie had gotten the silent-treatment message and stopped talking. Downtown traffic was heavy, but not yet bogged down by rush hour. Judith barely noticed the ebb and flow of pedestrians or the near miss of a couple of jaywalkers who had the temerity to attempt crossing the street in front of the Camry.

Ten minutes later they arrived at Hillside Manor. Judith mumbled a thank-you to Renie and got out of the car. The rain was still falling when she entered the house through the back door. Phyliss was in the kitchen, scrubbing the sink.

“You back from the hoosegow?” she asked. “Is Mr. F. on a chain gang yet?”

“Not quite.” Judith had hung her jacket on a peg in the hall before entering the kitchen. “But he won’t be home right away,” she added, putting her purse on the counter by the computer. “Any calls or other annoying interruptions?”

“Just your mother, the reincarnation of Queen Herodias,” Phyliss replied. “I think she wants your husband’s head on a platter.”

“Sounds about right,” Judith murmured.

The cleaning woman ran some water in the sink before looking at Judith. “This sounds serious. Has Mr. F. done something sinful?”

“No. It’s just that the situation is very confusing. Joe’s innocent.”

Phyliss nodded, her sausage curls bobbing up and down. “That’s what I said. Just like John the Baptist. Not that being innocent did him much good. Losing your head makes it hard to wear a hat.”

“At least Saint John got a halo.” Judith tried to square her shoulders, but lacked the energy and sat down at the kitchen table.

“All done,” Phyliss announced. “Guess I’ll head for home. It’s a good thing I brought my bumbershoot today. My bunions told me it was going to rain. God works in wondrous ways.”

As far as Judith was concerned, God wasn’t working at all. Neither was her brain. She simply sat and stared unseeingly until Phyliss had gone home and the house suddenly became uncommonly quiet.
Too quiet,
she finally realized, getting up and opening the refrigerator door. After staring at the interior for at least a full minute, she closed the door and opened the freezer compartment. There were still some frozen hors d’oeuvres left over from the holidays that Cousin Sue had brought from Gutbusters, the huge discount chain’s flagship store east of the lake. The Beard-Smythes might not show up for the social hour. Judith removed two of the three packages, setting them on the counter to thaw.

The middle-aged couple from Indianapolis returned shortly after four, complaining about the rain, but pleased with their purchases at a local souvenir shop on the waterfront. They went upstairs to take a nap before going to dinner at a seafood restaurant that overlooked the ship canal. Judith wondered how close the restaurant was to the houseboat where Joe had been doing his surveillance work. The only newspaper and TV reports about the condo shooting had been mercifully brief, overshadowed by what had so far had been an unusually warm—and dry—winter. Weather always was big news, often being unpredictable in Judith’s part of the world. No doubt the rain would lead off the local TV broadcasts at five. Not that she ever had time to watch the early edition—Judith was always too busy welcoming guests and preparing for the social hour.

Shortly after four o’clock, the single woman arrived via taxi. She immediately began griping about the rain. “I was warned it’d be like this,” she said, shaking out her navy-blue raincoat. “Luckily, I’m only in town for one night.”

Judith wasn’t in the mood to argue. She handed the guest register to the new arrival. “I’ll need your other information, too. Jean Rogers, right?”

“Yes. Do you want to see my driver’s license?”

“Please.”

Jean Rogers removed a black leather wallet from her brown suede drawstring handbag. “Here. I’m from Phoenix and I’m used to decent weather, even in the winter.”

The picture on the license wasn’t flattering, but, Judith thought uncharitably, there wasn’t much to work with. Jean was in her late thirties, plain as a post, and wore her dark hair pulled back into a careless knob that only accentuated her sharp features and pale skin. According to the license, she was five foot seven, weighed a hundred and thirty pounds, needed glasses for driving, but had no other restrictions—such as being unpleasant. Or so Judith thought to herself. The background on the license looked like the Grand Canyon and was far more attractive than the driver’s picture.

“I paid in advance with my credit card,” Jean said as Judith handed back the license. “Did you get it?”

“Yes. You’re all set. I’ll show you to your room.”

Jean picked up her belongings. “How far away is the convention center? I was told it was walkable.”

“That depends on how much you like to walk,” Judith said, starting up the stairs. “It’s downtown, about two miles from here.”

“I was informed it was at the bottom of this hill.”

“That’s the civic center,” Judith replied, reaching the second landing. “Whoever told you that was misinformed.”

Jean harrumphed. “Typical.”

“There’s bus service just a block away on Heraldsgate Avenue,” Judith said, pausing in the hallway by the love seat and table. “That’s the guest phone. Most people have a cell these days, but you can use that phone if you need it. There’s also a current supply of magazines and some books if you care to take advantage of them.”

“I won’t have time,” Jean said. “I must prep for my presentation tomorrow. I like to put my best foot forward.”

Haven’t seen that third foot,
Judith thought.
The other two
haven’t
done it yet.
“Of course,” she murmured, and moved on. The single room was at the front of the house, off a short corridor between Rooms One and Three. “Here are your two keys,” she said, opening the door. “One for the room, the other for the front door, if you go out this evening and come back after ten.”

Jean frowned as she studied her surroundings. “This room is very small.”

“That’s why it’s a single.”

Jean set her carry-on, a laptop case, and handbag on the bed before looking at the single window. “I suppose there’s a view when you can see it.”

“You can see downtown and the bay,” Judith said, pulling the curtain aside. “There’s a ferryboat pulling out. You can see another one coming in halfway across the bay.”

Jean rolled her pale blue eyes. “Ferryboats! What a thrill. Maybe they’ll sink. Or is that too much excitement for this city?” She peered impatiently at Judith. “Never mind. Are you done?”