Gone With the Win: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery (16 page)

Judith tried to remember if the car she’d seen at the racetrack had out-of-state plates. She only recalled that it was very sleek and going faster than she was. Renie, however, had a bit of a license-plate fetish. Every time she saw an out-of-state car on the hill, she’d cuss, saying they’d better not move to our too-crowded city. We might
seem
friendly, but we’re only polite. Then she’d make an obscene gesture.

“I should go back home,” Judith said, standing up. “I’ve got late arrivals due soon. At least Brick Frosch must be improving. I assume whoever struck him hasn’t been apprehended. There’s often some front-end damage when a car hits a pedestrian.”

Arlene rose from the sofa to walk Judith to the door. “Can’t Joe find out from Woody?”

“He can, but without a better description of the car and none of the driver, it’ll be hard to track down.”

“Hmm.” Arlene fingered her chin. “The intersection right by our street . . . so many apartments on the Avenue . . . walking distance to church . . .” Blue eyes widening, she dropped her hand and blurted out, “Bridey O’Leary! You know her—she always sits up front because she’s deaf as a post. Over ninety, can’t hear the TV or listen to the radio, so all she does is sit by the window. Bridey can still see.” Arlene removed her jacket from the hall hat rack. “I’ll call on her now. She loves company so I drop in now and then. Of course I have to TALK VERY LOUD.”

Judith jumped at the last shouted words. “T-t-that’s a good idea,” she said. “Let me know if Bridey saw anything. I only know her by sight.”

“And sight is what Bridey still has,” Arlene asserted. “You go along. I should tell Carl I’m leaving. I wouldn’t want him to think I ran off with a dashing man in a Mazzerooni.” She paused, frowning. “Or would I?” She turned around to head for the basement.

Judith stopped by the toolshed to collect her mother’s dinner tray. Gertrude was jabbing at the remote and muttering under her breath. “Why isn’t Lawrence Welk on Saturday nights anymore?” she demanded.

“Because he’s dead?” Judith responded.

Gertrude made a face at her daughter. “So are half the people I still see on TV. Clark Gable, Lana Turner, John Wayne, Joan Crawford, Bing Crosby—one of them pops up every week. Why not Lawrence Welk?”

“That’s because he was a bandleader, not a movie star,” Judith explained. “I think you can get some of his shows on DVD.”

Gertrude looked horrified. “I don’t want his show plastered all over my BVDs! In fact, I don’t wear BVDs. What’s wrong with you tonight? You all thrilled about your gentleman caller this afternoon? Or didn’t he ever find you?”

Judith perched on the arm of the small sofa. “What gentleman caller? When was he here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Gertrude said with a sniff.

“Yes, I would. Maybe he’s a guest. What time was he here?”

Gertrude sighed. “Oh, you have to know everything. It was almost five and it was raining, but I didn’t see your car, so I thought I’d go inside to see if supper was ready. You know I like to eat supper at five.”

“
You
know I usually don’t serve until six. Where was the man?”

“Coming into the kitchen when I came into the hall. He asked if the lady of the house was here. I told him how would I know, I was only her mother. He asked if anyone else was around. I didn’t see any sign of Knucklehead or your weird guests, so I told him he’d have to come back later. Seeing as how supper wasn’t ready at five, it wouldn’t be ready until six. Turned out it was later than that, due to your gallivanting.”

“Did he give his name? A card, maybe?”

“
You’re
a card. No. Why should he? He didn’t come to see me.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome.” Gertrude looked smug. “Better-looking than either of your two goofy husbands. But so’s a rutabaga.”

Judith gritted her teeth before asking another question. “How old?”

“The rutabaga?”

“Mother! Please! This is important. Ruby’s gone somewhere and I don’t know where she is. I’m worried about her.”

“What’s that got to do with your gentleman caller?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Gertrude’s eyes hardened. “He didn’t ask about Ruby. Why are you worried about her? It’s Saturday night, she’s young and good-looking. Why shouldn’t she be out on the town? You jealous?”

“No, of course not.” Judith stood up and collected Gertrude’s tray. “This man didn’t say anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. He had manners, I’ll say that for him.”

“Okay.” Judith surrendered. “Maybe he was inquiring about a reservation. I wish he’d left a note or some way to get in touch.”

“If he wants to stay at the B&B, he’ll call back,” Gertrude said in a reasonable tone.

“True.” With a firm hold on the tray, Judith leaned down to kiss the top of her mother’s head. “Good night. Maybe you can find some old Jack Benny or Bob Hope shows on TV.”

“Why would I do that? They’re dead, too.”

“Then try some vampire programs. They’re already dead and they’re still walking.”

“That’s more than I can do,” the old lady retorted.

Judith exited the toolshed. The wind was blowing harder, making the almost bare branches of the old cherry tree writhe against the night sky. She jumped when something brushed against her leg.
Sweetums
,
of course, seeking sanctuary in the toolshed.
But her feet suddenly seemed heavy as she approached the porch.
Too much walking,
she thought,
especially on pavement
. Gripping the handrail, she dragged herself up the steps. As she cast one last look out into the garden, a shadowy form appeared at the far end of the hedge where the garden sloped uphill. Judith froze in place. The shape kept moving toward her.

Chapter 13

J
udith!” Carl Rankers called, hurrying to the porch and putting a hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh! You startled me! I’m so sorry!”

Carl’s usually engaging grin seemed a bit uncertain. “I’d better go inside with you. You seem sort of shaky.”

“I am,” Judith admitted, letting Carl open the door for her. “I guess I’m just tired. What were you doing outside?”

He chuckled as they went down the hall. “Arlene won’t let me smoke inside the house except in the basement. The football game was at the half, so I came upstairs to get a drink. Arlene was worried about the bird feeder at the back of the yard blowing over, so I went out to check. It was fine. But I decided to have a cigarette while I was outside. I saw something white in the hedge. It was closer to your side than ours, so I came out at the other end.”

“What was it?” Judith asked, getting her nerves under control.

Carl shrugged. “Some kind of flyers the mailman dropped or somebody left on the porch.”

Judith’s natural curiosity took over. “Have you got them with you?”

Carl looked puzzled as he reached inside his jacket. “Yeah. I might as well toss them in your recycling, if that’s okay. They’re kind of damp.” He handed over three sheets of dirty, crumpled paper just as Joe came down the back stairs.

Joe ambled into the kitchen. “Oh—hi, Carl. What’s up?”

Carl started to answer, but Joe noticed Judith was pale. “Hey—what’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”

“Nothing, really,” Judith replied. “I overreacted. I thought we had an intruder, but it was Carl. He was in the hedge.”

Joe looked curiously at his neighbor. “Really? Do you always do that at half time?”

“Only when I smoke,” Carl replied. “Arlene can’t find me there to chew me out.”

“Good move,” Joe said. “What did you think of the first half?”

Judith turned her back on both men and headed for the recycling bin. She straightened out the three sheets of paper to make sure they weren’t of any importance. To her astonishment, they were tip sheets from the racetrack. The Rankerses occasionally went to the races, which ordinarily wouldn’t have made her check the dates. But on this stormy night that had followed a seemingly futile afternoon, she saw a tip sheet for the Breeders Cup races and two pages of sports car rally listings.

“Here,” she said, breaking in on Joe and Carl’s pigskin analysis. “I want Woody to check these for any trace of DNA.”

Joe looked puzzled; Carl seemed bemused. “Why?” both men asked at once.

Judith carefully put the pages on the kitchen table. “Because whoever came to the house probably had these with him. The guy in the Maserati visited with my mother.”

Joe gazed at the ceiling. “He should either get a medal or be committed. I think you’re reaching.”

“No, I’m not. I saw that car at the track,” Judith asserted, despite her earlier doubts. “Then he shows up here just before I got home. There’s got to be some link to Ruby, and thus, to her mother’s killer.”

Carl patted Joe’s arm. “Second half’s about to start. Think I’ll leave you two to your discussion. Glad I found some . . . evidence.” He sauntered off down the back hall.

Grimacing, Joe finally looked at the soiled sheets of paper. “Okay, they look genuine. Does this mean I have to interrogate your loathsome mother?”

“No,” Judith replied. “Let Woody do that. She likes him. He can call her on the phone.”

“I should’ve had Carl do it. She likes him, too.”

“True.” Judith looked sheepish. “She only dislikes men I marry.”

“Okay.” Joe seemed resigned. “We’re doing this as much for Woody as we are for Ruby.”

Judith. “Thanks. I think I heard my latecomers arrive. I have to check them in.”

Bob and Doris Schilling were from Toledo, Ohio and had had to change planes in Chicago. The fiftyish couple seemed frazzled, but relieved to have finally reached their destination. They were in town to visit their son and his wife, who lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the top of Heraldsgate Hill. Judith soothed the Schillings with a warm welcome before showing them to Room Four. She’d just come down to the living room, where Joe was now watching the football game.

“Woody told me to say hi,” he said, not taking his eyes away from the flat-screen TV Judith had bought him for his August birthday.

Judith sat down in the side chair that was closest to Joe’s recliner. “Did he ask if I was making progress?”

“No. He’s a veteran cop. He won’t ask until you tell him. Woody probably doesn’t expect anything to come of all this.” Joe suddenly swore. “Another fumble! Can’t these clods hold on to the ball?”

Judith decided it wasn’t the right time to discuss the cold case with her husband. She got up and was going back to the kitchen when Arlene came in through the back door.

“Bridey is amazing!” she declared. “You should hire her instead of the Dooley kids.”

“I don’t ‘hire’ anybody,” Judith said. “They volunteer.”

“Then volunteer Bridey,” Arlene responded. “It’s too bad more crime doesn’t happen out on the Avenue. She’d be a treasure trove.”

“Have a seat,” Judith offered, pulling out a chair for herself. “Can I get you some coffee or a soda?”

“Goodness, no,” Arlene said, sitting down across from Judith. “It’s almost eight-thirty. Carl and I’ll be heading upstairs soon to watch TV before we go to bed.” She glanced around. “No sign of Ruby?”

Judith shook her head. “Joe just got off the phone with Woody. I don’t think he told him about Ruby being gone. I suppose my worrying about her is silly, but still . . .”

Arlene shrugged. “What’s the worst thing that could happen to her? She could be kidnapped by white slavers or Somalian pirates. Worse yet, she could be forced to watch C-SPAN for an entire week.”

“I suppose,” Judith said vaguely. “Well? What did Bridey see?”

“The car, coming up the hill and then gaining speed as Brick was crossing the street. It was a 2002 Acura TL, four-door, dark color. State license plate began with
ROZ
or
POZ
and then three numbers she didn’t catch. After hitting Brick, the car went even faster and out of sight.”

Judith couldn’t help but be incredulous. “This ninety-year-old woman could tell all that in a few seconds?”

Arlene made a face. “Of course she could. She and her late husband owned an automotive repair and restoration shop at the bottom of the hill for over forty years. They were both very knowledgeable about all kinds of cars. Bridey hasn’t lost her edge just because she’s lost her hearing. You might like to see her miniature car collection. Her spare bedroom is filled with little cars. Trucks, too, and even RVs.”

“How is she with people? Did she describe the driver, too?”

“Not in quite as much detail. She likes cars better than she likes people. As she told me, if she were a car, she could go to a restoration shop like they owned and get new ears put on. Or in.” Arlene paused. “Now, how would they do that? Oh, well. You know—like your hip replacement. In fact, why can’t they replace ears?”

“I don’t know,” Judith replied. “The driver? Please?”

“Oh, him.” Arlene sighed impatiently. “Probably Caucasian, maybe dark hair, no glasses, hatless, hairy and rather beefy hands. Maybe wearing a leather jacket. It looked shiny under the streetlight.”

“Not bad,” Judith said, impressed. “Very detail-oriented.”

“They did that, too.”

“What?”

“Detailing. Cars at their shop, of course. What else?”

“Oh. Of course.” Judith sighed. “Those first three letters of the license plate may help along with the car’s description. Woody can check that plate through the system.”

Arlene was on her feet. “Would he like to hire Bridey?”

“The police department is short on funds,” Judith said, slowly getting up. She felt stiff as well as tired. “But she’s a very keen observer.”

“You’d like her,” Arlene said as they headed for the back door. “Although a visit with her can be exhausting because you have to speak in SUCH A LOUD VOICE.”

Judith gave another start. “Right, right. Thanks, Arlene. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Yes, you will.” From anyone else, it might’ve sounded like a threat.

As soon as her neighbor had left, Judith called Renie. “Do you recall what the license plate was on that sports car that was ahead of us leaving the track?”

“What sports car?”

“The silver one. It may’ve been here just before I got home. By the way, Ruby’s sort of missing.”

“Coz, it’s going on nine o’clock. Bill and I are watching
Lonesome Dove
for the tenth time, but we like it. I didn’t notice much about the car or the plate. I was still picking corn kernels off my small person.”

“Sorry I asked,” Judith said. “I know you often notice—”

“Ruby’s missing?” Renie suddenly exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I told you.” She went on to explain about the events that had taken place since returning to Hillside Manor.

“Well,” Renie said when her cousin had finished, “that’s all really fascinating. But Gus, Call, and Deets have started driving the cattle to Montana. I don’t want to miss the part where they get to Ogallala.”

Never having seen the miniseries, Judith gazed up at the high ceiling. “Fine. Go watch your damned TV show. Don’t worry about me.”

“Hey—that’s my mother’s line!” Renie cried. “I swear you’ll turn into her eventually.”

“So? You get more like
my
mother every day.”

“Weird science. Oh—I’m missing a key scene with Elmira. Bye.”

Wearily, Judith disconnected. Maybe she shouldn’t worry about Ruby. Having grown up in the area, she undoubtedly still knew some people. The note may have been written before she went out with friends and she’d forgotten to add anything more enlightening.

“I’m going upstairs,” Judith announced to Joe. “How long is that game going to last?”

He peered at the screen. “It says nine twenty-two, fourth quarter. I can watch the end of it upstairs if you’re in the mood for tackling
me
.”

“I am not,” Judith declared. “I’m beat. Go ahead and lock up when you’re done. I hope Ruby remembered to take her key with her.”

“Okay. Whoa! Interception! What a move!”

Trying not to roll her eyes, Judith made her way to the back stairs. The two flights to the family quarters daunted her, but after pausing to take a deep breath, she finally staggered into the master bedroom. Flopping onto the bed to catch her breath, she gazed out the window. The wind was still up, causing the thick shrubbery alongside the house to scrape against the old wooden exterior. Apparently the rain had started after Arlene had gone home. Judith could hear a faint drip from one of the gutters.
Plop-plop, plop, plop-plop
. . . the rhythm soothed her. She was sound asleep by the time Joe came upstairs a half hour later.

F
eel better?” he asked when Judith joined him in the kitchen just before seven the next morning.

“You should have woken me up. I don’t remember the last time I slept in my clothes. I never heard you come to bed.”

Joe shrugged. “I shifted you around on the bed and tucked you in. You sort of mumbled, but that was it.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thanks. Who won the game?”

Joe turned sheepish. “I don’t know. I fell asleep just before the two-minute warning. If some of the guests hadn’t come back a little after ten, I might have ended up sleeping in the recliner.”

“Oh, Joe, are we getting old?”

“Sure,” he said cheerfully. “That’s what people do. I don’t know of anybody whoever went in the other direction.”

“Did Ruby come back?”

“No idea,” Joe said, pouring coffee for both of them.

“I thought you might’ve checked,” Judith murmured. “You knew I was worried.”

“You
didn’t check?” he inquired, sitting down at the table.

Judith shook her head. “I was afraid to. Don’t you think one of us might’ve heard her go into the spare room?”

“Not you. A rhinoceros could’ve roared through the family quarters last night and you’d have slept right through it.” He saw the dismal look on his wife’s face. “Okay, I’ll go up there now and see if she came back.”

“Thanks,” Judith said meekly.

Five minutes later, Joe was back in the kitchen. “Ruby’s still AWOL,” he said, his round face reflecting Judith’s concern. “Maybe I should call Woody. I might as well ask him if he can take a look at those sheets Carl found, but don’t expect anything.”

“Don’t forget the license plate and the car description,” Judith said as she slipped bacon in a skillet. “I gather you’ve already eaten breakfast.”

“Yes. What license plate and car description?”

“Oh! I didn’t get a chance to tell you last night.” She put a piece of bread in the toaster before giving Joe a quick rundown of Bridey O’Leary’s information.

“That’s the old lady who sits up front at SOTS?” Joe asked in surprise. “My God, she’s better than a trained observer!”

“It’s her entertainment,” Judith said. “She’s very deaf. I assume she can still read, though.”

“She sure can see,” he remarked. “Okay, I’ll call Woody after we get back from Mass. Since he sings in the choir at his Methodist church, he and Sondra usually don’t get home until twelve-thirty or so. Want me to make an omelet for your guests?”

Judith gave him her most winsome look. “Would you?”

He squeezed her chin. “Sure. Maybe I’ll make two different kinds.”

The next hour was spent in preparation for the guests’ breakfast. Happily, none of them had dietary restrictions—a question Judith always posed on her registration forms. The first of the current visitors didn’t arrive until almost eight-thirty. Apparently the wind and rain had lulled them into a sound sleep, too.

By ten forty-five, two of the couples lingered at the dining room table. Fortunately, they were both staying over until Monday. The departing guests had checked out a few minutes earlier.

Joe, who had been upstairs going over his notes for Woody, arrived in the kitchen as Judith was scraping dirty plates. “Are we on schedule for eleven o’clock?”