All the Pretty Hearses (6 page)

“I sure am,” Judith retorted. “The social hour is at six.”

“No thanks. I’ll be forced to mingle with strangers tomorrow at the convention center.”

Lucky them,
Judith thought as she left Room Two. Obnoxious guests were the exception, not the rule, at Hillside Manor. Fortunately, the young couple from Kamloops, British Columbia, were friendly and chipper. The widowed sisters were natives, but had lived away from the city for many years. They had come for a family reunion with their brother, and were scheduled to leave the next day to visit other relatives who lived in nearby towns. Having been away for so long, they both lamented many of the changes since their youth. At least the weather was the same, and they liked it that way. San Diego had too much sun for one sister and the other had never cared for the extremes in Green Bay, Wisconsin.

Shortly before six o’clock, Judith took dinner to Gertrude. For once, the old lady didn’t grouse about not having received her “supper” earlier. Instead, she was chortling over Joe’s misfortune. “Didn’t I tell you he was a bum?” she demanded as Judith set down the tray of leftovers from the previous night’s meal. “Crooked, like most cops. I’ll bet he stole more apples than anybody else on his beat.”

“Joe never walked a beat,” Judith said, “at least not after he—”

Gertrude jabbed at the potatoes on her plate. “What is this? Mush? I don’t eat mush for supper.”

“You do now,” Judith snapped—and was immediately sorry. She put an arm around her mother’s hunched shoulders. “I don’t mean to be nasty. I’m just worried.”

“About what? Dim Bulb getting out on bail? Maybe he’ll try to escape and they’ll shoot him.”

Judith removed her arm, but held her tongue. “I have to get back to my guests. I’ll warm up some of the marionberry pie for your dessert.” She fled the toolshed before her mother could do more than make a couple of grumbling noises.

It was just after six when Judith went back into the house. All of the regular guests—except Jean Rogers—had gathered in the living room to nibble on Gutbusters’ appetizers and sip sherry or sparkling cider. Judith joined them, as was her custom when she had time. Chatting with the visitors was better than stewing about Joe’s dilemma.

“So much construction!” the sister from Green Bay exclaimed. “Cranes everywhere! It’s like a steel forest around here.”

“You should come to Kamloops,” the young wife said. “We’re growing, but we’re still small and the countryside is beautiful.”

“We went to Banff and Lake Louise a few years ago,” the middle-aged husband from Indianapolis said. “Better than Europe. Never saw such pretty lakes and mountains in my life.”

“We’ve got plenty of lakes,” the Green Bay sister declared, “but we also have plenty of bugs in the . . .”

Judith heard the doorbell chime and realized she’d forgotten about the Beard-Smythes. Excusing herself, she hurried to the front door. Alicia and Reggie Beard-Smythe stood on the porch. So did a large Irish wolfhound.

“Good evening, Judith,” Alicia said with a flashing smile that never seemed to reach her sapphire-blue eyes. “It’s so kind of you to give us shelter.” Without waiting to be asked, the couple—and the dog—crossed the threshold into the entry hall. “My goodness,” Alicia said, slipping back the hood on her chic crimson all-weather jacket, “I already feel warmer. It may not be freezing outside, but our house is a refrigerator. We kept at least three of the fireplaces going, but that’s such a nuisance. This,” she added, with a sweep of her elegant hand, “is bliss! So many old furnishings! So much well-worn decor! So archaically quaint!”

“Have you ever met my mother?” Judith’s question had popped out almost involuntarily.

Alicia looked uncertain. “I’m not—” She stopped as the wolfhound looked as if he—or she or it—was about to pounce on the elephant-foot umbrella stand despite Reggie’s attempt to tighten his hold on the animal’s leash.

“Down, Mayo!” Reggie ordered in his high-pitched voice. “Down, boy!” He danced around the large hard-side spinner piece of luggage he’d hauled into the house.

Mayo backed off, but began sniffing the Persian carpet.
The well-worn Persian carpet,
Judith thought. No doubt the dog smelled cat. She hoped Sweetums was in the toolshed or outside. She decided against having the Beard-Smythes formally register. “Would you like a drink?”

Husband and wife exchanged glances. “Well . . . that would be awfully nice,” Alicia said. “How soon is dinner?”

Judith couldn’t conceal her surprise. “Dinner? I don’t serve dinner for our guests.” She gestured toward the living room. “This is the social hour. You know—time for visitors to get together and compare impressions of the city.”

Reggie’s pinched face looked puzzled. “But the Paines are coming for dinner tomorrow, are they not?”

“Yes,” Judith replied, wincing as Mayo scratched at the powder room door just off the entry hall. “But that’s part of the school auction package.”

“Oh.” Reggie seemed crestfallen, stroking his thin mustache with long, delicate fingers. “We naturally assumed . . .” He looked at his wife. “What
did
we assume, darling?”

Alicia looked discomfited. “There must be some misunderstanding. Martha Morelli told me you were serving dinner. Or was it Norma who mentioned that?” Before Judith could respond, she waved a hand. “That’s unimportant. I took it for granted that we’d dine here. It’s quite impossible to cook when one’s teeth are chattering. I’m sure that we could just have some of what you and Jack are eating tonight.”

“Joe,”
Judith stated firmly. “Joe Flynn. Actually, Joe isn’t here this evening. He’s in ja—jaywalking school. As a retired policeman, he signed up to teach people to cross streets only in crosswalks. Both marked and unmarked. You’ve probably noticed how so many people on top of the hill just pop out from between parked cars, risking life and limb. Very dangerous.”

“Done it myself,” Reggie admitted, tugging again at Mayo’s leash. “The avenue is so busy these days.” He glanced at his wife. “We can go to a restaurant on top of the hill. But we won’t jaywalk. Heh heh.”

Alicia, however, seemed disappointed. “Oh, not after all we’ve been through.” She suddenly brightened. “I know! I’ll whip up one of my favorite soufflés. Would you enjoy that, Judith?”

“Well . . . sure. That sounds fine. Would you like to take your luggage upstairs? You’re in Room Three.”

“Will do,” Reggie volunteered, pulling on Mayo’s leash. “Ta-ta.”

Judith was trying to figure out a tactful way to deal with the dog’s presence. “Did Martha—or Norma—mention that I have a cat?”

Alicia removed her jacket and handed it to Judith. “A cat? No, I don’t think so.” She frowned. “Is your cat well disciplined? Mayo is afraid of cats. Wolfhounds are very sensitive.”

“Cats in general are difficult to discipline. Sweetums spends much of his time with my mother in the . . . her apartment. Usually, there’s no problem, because I don’t allow pets at the B&B.”

Alicia looked shocked. “You don’t? How . . . well, I shouldn’t say ‘inhospitable,’ but it strikes me as arbitrary. Mayo is like family.”

“It’s not a lack of hospitality,” Judith declared. “It’s a courtesy to guests who have allergies to animals. It also safeguards against the kind of damage that untrained pets can incur.” A vision of the savaged lace curtains in Room Five flashed through her mind’s eye. “What,” she continued, changing the subject, “shall I do with your jacket?”

“Oh.” The query seemed to stump Alicia. “I suppose you could put it in your coat closet down here for now.”

“We don’t have one,” Judith said. “The original coat closet was replaced by the powder room when I converted the house into a B&B.”

“How very odd,” Alicia murmured. “Never mind. I should start making my soufflé. Where’s the kitchen?”

Judith placed the jacket on the hat rack before leading the way through the dining room into the kitchen. “What do you need?” she asked while Alicia studied the high ceiling, the appliances, and the schoolhouse clock.

“So delectably old-fashioned!” Alicia seemed transfixed by the almost imperceptible movement of the minute hand. “Tick-tock, tick-tock . . . oh! Ingredients. Five eggs, flour, milk, butter, salt, cayenne pepper, two kinds of cheese, lobster, shrimp, or crab. Mayonnaise, too.”

“I have some frozen shrimp,” Judith said. “Will that do?”

Alicia grimaced. “It’ll have to. Oh, well. What kind of cheeses do you keep on hand?”

“Swiss, Gruyère, Havarti, and two different Cheddars.”

“No Parmesan?”

“Only in a shaker,” Judith admitted.

“Dear me.” Alicia gently scratched her cheek with a perfectly manicured and polished nail. “I suppose the Swiss and Gruyère will do. Oh! Mushrooms, of course.”

Judith wasn’t going to waste the fresh mushrooms she’d bought for the Paines’ dinner. “Canned?”

Alicia winced. “What kind?”

“Button. Sliced and unsliced.”

“I suppose the sliced ones might work if there isn’t any other variety.” She gestured at the stove. “Would you mind turning the oven on to three twenty-five?”

“No problem.” Judith moved to the stove to set the temperature. “I’ll get the other ingredients from the fridge.”

“You have a KitchenAid mixer,” Alicia noted. “Mine has seventeen attachments and a glass bowl. So much easier to monitor the mixing process than these old stainless-steel ones. They look as if they belong in a hospital. I also need a quart and a half-size glass baking dish.”

“Sure,” Judith replied, removing cheese, mayo, butter, and milk from the fridge. “I’ll get the shrimp from the freezer so it can thaw. How long does it take for the soufflé to bake?”

“Forty-five minutes,” Alicia replied, checking the oven temperature. “That’s less heat and a longer time than for the creamy kind, but Reggie is one for a firm soufflé. Where are your spatulas?”

“Second drawer on the left from the mixer,” Judith said, searching for the shrimp in the freezer compartment. “How much—”

The ringing of the phone interrupted her.

“I’ll get it,” Alicia said. She grabbed the receiver from the cradle on the counter. “Yes?”

Judith found the shrimp just as a loud crash practically shook the house. Screams and shouts erupted from the living room. Dumping the shrimp on the counter, she raced as fast as she could through the dining room and into the entry hall.

All of the guests who’d been enjoying the social hour were crowding together in the archway of the living room entrance. Judith couldn’t see anything amiss. She counted heads to make sure everyone was alive.

“Suitcase,” the husband from Indianapolis said, pointing to the first landing on the stairs. “I think.”

Sure enough, the heavy piece of luggage belonging to the Beard-Smythes had fallen from above and toppled the stand on which Judith kept her guest register and visitors’ information.

“How on earth . . . ?” she murmured, looking up to the second landing. No one was in sight. The impact of the hard-side case had broken one of the stand’s legs; the register was under the luggage and the visitor guides were scattered all over the bottom stairs and the entry-hall floor.

“Let me help,” the young man from Kamloops offered.

He was joined by his wife and the husband from Indianapolis, whose first name Judith suddenly recalled was Edgar.

“Did anybody see what happened?” Judith asked, aware that she was trembling.

No one responded right away, until finally the San Diego sister spoke up. “We were all chatting and having such a nice time. Then there was that terrifying crash.” She moved closer to the accident site. “Oh my! That stand looks like an antique. Can you get it fixed?”

“I hope so,” Judith said. “It belonged to my great-aunt and great-uncle. It was originally a lectern in their parish church. It’s solid oak.”

“Not solid enough,” Edgar said as he and the younger man set the offending piece of luggage on the entry-hall floor. “Anybody here lay claim to this thing?” he asked with a disparaging gesture at the suitcase.

“It belongs to some guests who arrived just fifteen or twenty minutes ago,” Judith said. “The husband took the case upstairs and his wife is in the kitchen. I’ll let her know.”

Judith rescued the guest register and set it on the bombay chest. The rest of the group had joined in to pick up the restaurant coupons, city maps, bus and tour schedules, pens, notepads, and other items scattered around the entry hall. Judith explained that she had an artificial hip, making it risky for her to bend down, and thanked them for their efforts before returning to the kitchen.

Alicia appeared oblivious to the commotion in the entry hall. She had the mixer going at full speed, whipping the egg whites into small peaks. She apparently didn’t hear Judith’s first two attempts to get her attention.

“Stop!”
Judith finally shouted within a few inches of the other woman’s ear.

Alicia looked at her hostess and held up a finger. “One minute.”

Judith reached across the counter and yanked the mixer’s plug out of the socket. “Who called?”

“Who called what?” Alicia demanded, her eyes snapping with anger. “Why did you shut off the mixer? I had almost perfect peaks.”

“I’m expecting an important call,” Judith said, working hard to keep her temper.

“Oh.” Alicia shrugged. “It was a wrong number.”

“Are you sure?” Judith asked, trying to ignore the eggshells on the floor, the counter, and in one of the drawers that her guest had left open.

“Of course. It was someone with a foreign name, and though his English was quite good, he sounded very peculiar. A sex fiend, no doubt. He was rattling on about bondage and handcuffs and all that type of ridiculous behavior. I hung up on him. There’s no point getting angry or sounding frightened. That’s how those people get their thrills. Would you please plug in the mixer before I lose my peaks?”

“Did he give a name?”

“A name?” Alicia said crossly. “A name for what?”

“His name. My name. Any name!”

Alicia shook her head impatiently. “Certainly not. In fact, he started out saying something about sandwiches.”

“Sandwiches?”

“Yes.”
The sapphire eyes sparked. “You know—bread, butter, egg salad, bacon, lettuce—”