Nutty As a Fruitcake (26 page)

“So I slept in.” The statement sounded like the toll of doom. Which, Judith realized, it was. “In the morning, somebody came to the door—Enid later told me it was Gary Meyers. But she couldn't rouse me then, so she went to answer it. Except for Art, it's unusual to have anyone call that early. After she got rid of Gary, she made sure I woke up. Enid was furious. I needn't go into it. I dressed and got her medicine and was going to start breakfast when I saw Ted Ericson pull into the driveway.” George pointed through the window. “He took a tree out of his car. Now Ted's no handyman, and I knew he didn't have any tools to speak of, so I thought I'd offer him Mrs. Swanson's hatchet to take a two-inch cut off the trunk. I'd borrowed the hatchet again the day before to split some kindling. I put on my jacket and gloves before I went outside to get the hatchet. By then, Ted was driving away. I hurried down the driveway to stop him, but he didn't
see me.” George's voice began to drag. “Even in the morning, the rest of the cul-de-sac looked so pretty. All of a sudden, I had this strange feeling, the one you get when you're a little kid and you still believe in Santa Claus and being happy and everything in the world is wonderful…I'd forgotten what that was like.

“And then I saw the Ericsons' tree. It was beautiful. It was fresh and green and fragrant. It was the perfect Noble fir.”

George lifted his chin, the haunted eyes still gazing into the snow-covered driveway. “I went back into the house. With the hatchet.”

He turned away from Judith and walked into the living room.

O
NE OF
J
UDITH'S
favorite Christmas traditions was lunching with Renie at Papaya Pete's. The holiday decor never quite worked among the tiki gods and coral reefs, but the food was always wonderful. The cousins sipped their beverages of choice as Bing Crosby sang on a background tape about Christmas in Hawaii.

“Admit it, coz,” Renie chided over her bourbon. “You were wrong. Excuse the expression, but you were dead wrong.”

Judith winced. “Okay, okay, Still, I finally got it right. I never took into account George's…wiliness. But he had to have some survival skills or he would have killed Enid forty years ago.”

It was Wednesday, the twenty-second of December. The snow had fallen through Sunday, but a warming trend had set in Monday afternoon. Rain had returned. By Tuesday, the snow was almost gone, though there was more in the forecast for the Christmas weekend. Judith had mixed emotions about the weather: Mike and Kristin were due at four in the afternoon. They would have no trouble driving from the eastern part of the state, where Mike was meeting his longtime girlfriend on his way from Idaho. But the following day, Herself was scheduled to land at the airport. Judith
would have wished for a blizzard—except that Caitlin was also coming in from Switzerland.

“So George confessed,” Renie remarked, digging into the rich dark bread that had been brought along with the drinks. “Why, I wonder.”

Judith's expression was rueful. “He didn't want to cause trouble. I haven't had a chance to tell you, but I got a Christmas card from him in the mail just before we left for lunch. It was a beautiful card, showing a lovely home all decorated for Christmas, and it said, ‘neighbor to neighbor' on the front. I should have brought it with me. Inside, George had written, ‘Thank you, Judith, for understanding. Wherever I go, I'll finally be free.'” Judith's eyes misted over.

“Jeez.” Renie gulped at her bourbon. “Where
will
he go?”

Regaining control, Judith shrugged. “At his age, maybe a mental hospital. But, of course, he's as sane as we are.”

Renie cocked her head to one side. “Is he? Why did he take the Dalmane, confess, and then deny he did it? That sounds daffy to me.”

“Not really. George panicked. Imagine the scene.” She saw Renie blanch. “Okay, don't imagine it. He'd killed his wife in a horrible manner. Then he ran into the living room to get the poison book—that's how those needles got tracked all over the house. Apparently, George only got blood on his shirt, so there were no traces anywhere outside the bedroom. Once he reached the living room, he discovered the book was gone. Without it, George couldn't be sure of the dosage. He didn't intend to kill himself. But he had to guess how many pills would merely knock him out. So he swigged down some sleeping pills with his antacid, then took the glass outside, broke it, and threw it in the garbage.”

Renie didn't respond until after the waiter had delivered their salads. “Why break the glass?”

Judith set her scotch aside and picked up a fork. “It was typically George. His first thought was for the rest of the family. They'd suffer badly if their father was a murderer. He wanted to make it look as if a third party had tried to kill both of them and wanted to get rid of some of the evidence. In
fact, what George did was set up a frame—for himself.”

Renie stared. “You mean he made it look as if somebody else had set him up to do exactly what he actually did? But who?”

Judith made a helpless gesture with her free hand. “I don't know. I don't think he knew. Anybody, as long as it wasn't family. Or Mrs. Swanson. A robber, maybe, though robbers don't usually poison their victims. But George wasn't thinking clearly at this point. Everything happened very fast, in that brief span of time after Ted went back up to the top of the Hill and before Art started calling his parents.”

Renie was applying extra salt and pepper to her fresh Bibb lettuce. “So why did he confess?”

“George hadn't considered his reaction to Dalmane,” Judith said with a wry expression. “It can cause hallucinations, but mostly it triggers confusion. In George's case, it made him blurt out the truth. Think of the shock to his system. He'd obviously taken more than he meant to. When his brain began to clear, he had to retract his confession and play the part he'd concocted earlier.”

Stuffing salad in her mouth, Renie shook her head. “Wild. And he almost got away with it because everybody thought he was nuts.”

Judith smiled at Renie. “I thought so, too—at first. That was the problem—I didn't want to believe George was the killer, yet the more I considered the man himself, the more I realized he wasn't nutty at all. He was like your mother's fruitcake—it's still fruitcake, but there aren't any nuts.”

Renie rolled her eyes. “
You're
nuts. What did he mean when he said ‘key' at the hospital? Are you sure he wasn't saying ‘kiwi' just to throw everybody off the track?”

“George's brain was still a little foggy,” Judith replied, unperturbed by Renie's incredulity. “I honestly don't know what he said. Maybe it was ‘tree.' The Ericsons' tree set him off that morning. But ‘key' stuck in my mind anyway. I kept saying that Gary Meyers was the key to the mystery, which he was. He saw Enid alive at seven-thirty. No one else was seen coming to their house after that. Oh, it was possible, but
unlikely, given that everybody else had an alibi. Except Mrs. Swanson.”

“Who wouldn't smack a bug,” Renie put in. “What about those grandsons and their larcenous ways?”

Judith used a piece of bread to soak up the last drops of tangy salad dressing. “Gabe Porter alerted United Foods' meat manager. No doubt they're passing the word on to Pacific Meats. George had already questioned some of the November entries. Greg may have come back to the house that night to get money, but I think Dave wanted the ledger. He knew his grandfather would find the discrepancies. Of course, Dave never got in the house, because his brother had taken the key and dropped it after Enid frightened him away.”

The salad plates were removed. In keeping with tradition, the cousins ordered a second round of drinks.

“Why did those two need so much money?” Renie asked, though she knew that Judith hadn't figured it out. “I'm guessing it was gambling. It suits their so-called mentality—always looking for the big score, never accepting that their luck can't change.”

“Could be,” Judith allowed. “As a family, the Goodriches are a disaster. Maybe Glenda will take Gary back. Art and JoAnne probably will get some of the money from George to tide them over. Leigh always stuck up for her father, and now she's stuck with him.”

“Art may find another job,” Renie pointed out. “That would be the best thing for him.”

“True.” Judith smiled at the waiter as he brought their fresh drinks. “Remember how I thought Art might have killed Enid because she had destroyed George? I realize that works both ways—George saw Art turning into himself—that is, his father. Art was becoming downtrodden, defeated, ineffectual. I'm convinced that preyed on George's mind.”

Apparently, Renie agreed. At least she didn't argue as the cousins sipped their drinks in companionable silence. The restaurant was busy. It looked as if several large tables were hosting office parties. Barbra Streisand's voice on the background tape was almost drowned out by the cheerful din.

“Speaking of screwed-up relatives,” Renie said at last, “how are you and Joe coping with Herself's imminent arrival?”

Judith gazed up at a cluster of glass balls held in place by fishnet. “Okay, I think. I keep trying not to dwell on it. It's easy, because there's so much else to do. I just wish she weren't coming—for Joe's sake. Let's face it: He doesn't have the Christmas spirit. Not like you and I do, anyway.”

Renie shrugged off Judith's words. “I told you, that's okay. Nobody gets graded on Christmas spirit. Sometimes I think Bill's greatest Christmas gift is that he lets me do all the crazy things I go through every December. That's real generosity.”

Judith looked up from her drink. “You have a point. And I can't begrudge Herself visiting us. Joe—and Bill—have to put up with our goofy relatives for all the holidays.”

“So do we.” Renie grimaced. “But you're right. Some of the best presents don't come in boxes.”

Judith lifted her glass. “Amen. Here's to you, coz. You've been a favorite gift for over fifty years.”

Renie touched Judith's glass with hers. “Ditto, coz. Merry Christmas. Where's our food?”

Renie was never one for sentiment. But Judith didn't doubt her cousin's feelings. Both women took a long sip, and smiled.

 

It had stopped raining by the time Judith returned home at two-thirty. Since a UPS truck was parked in the middle of the cul-de-sac, Renie let Judith out at the corner. The big blue Chev had just driven off when Mrs. Swanson called to Judith from her front porch.

“I feel very sad,” Mrs. Swanson said as Judith joined her on the walkway. “Poor Mr. Goodrich. I'd so hoped it wasn't true.”

Judith smiled kindly at the older woman. “He doesn't seem to mind as much as you'd think,” she said. The words were inadequate, but there wasn't much else to say.

“Wherever he goes, I'll visit him,” Mrs. Swanson declared. “I shall certainly miss having him next door. Despite the ter
rible thing he did, I believe Mr. Goodrich is a fine, decent man.”

Judith agreed. “You've been a good friend to him,” she added.

A tiny smile touched Mrs. Swanson's lips. “I hope so. I even lied for him. Can you forgive me?”

Judith, who had been known to tell a few fibs in her time, laughed lightly. “About the hatchet? Don't worry—I admire your loyalty. I'm sure George does, too.”

“Yes. Perhaps.” Mrs. Swanson shivered. It was getting colder, and she wore only a lambswool sweater over her housedress. “I'd like to see a young family move in next door. A
happy
family,” she added, “like my son's. I leave for Portland tonight to visit them for Christmas.”

“How nice,” Judith said with enthusiasm, as the UPS truck drove off. “We'll keep an eye on your house for you.”

Mrs. Swanson's smile bloomed fully. “Thank you, my dear. It does make me nervous when there are two vacant houses in a row for several days. Except,” she continued, turning toward the Goodrich residence, “who did that?”

“Did what?” Puzzled, Judith also turned.

Ted Ericson's holiday sign was still in place, as was the one put up by the realtor. But the dogwood tree and the shrubs twinkled with green-and-gold lights. So did the front porch and the eaves. Judith gasped.

“I've no idea,” she said in amazement. “It looks…lovely. Did you see anybody around? Art or JoAnne or Glenda, maybe?”

“No. I've been packing. I only noticed the lights a few minutes ago. That's how I happened to be on the porch when you came by.” Mrs. Swanson looked as mystified as Judith felt.

“Whoever did it has nice taste,” Judith said. “It makes the whole cul-de-sac come alive.” Noting that Mrs. Swanson was now shivering in earnest, she put a hand on the older woman's arm. “Get inside. It may snow again. Have a wonderful trip, and a merry Christmas.”

After Mrs. Swanson went up her front steps, Judith walked
down the sidewalk to admire the Goodrich decor up close.

“Cool, huh?” said Dooley, who had seemingly materialized from out of nowhere but probably had vaulted the fence and come down Hillside Manor's driveway. “Did you do that?”

Judith shook her head. “I've no idea who did it. I'm stumped.”

Dooley admired the lights, then gave Judith a sidelong, almost diffident glance. “We were wrong, huh? About Mr. Goodrich, I mean. But then you were right. You're pretty sharp at figuring this stuff out, Mrs. Flynn.”

“Sometimes,” Judith allowed. Her gaze shifted to the Ericson house. “I can't figure everything out, though.” She recalled Jeanne's odd change of mind about the invitation to view their tree. “People are often unfathomable.”

“I guess. But this is the time of year that they act odd. Secrets and stuff. You know. Everybody likes to be a little kid again.” Dooley had taken on an air of kindly condescension.

“That's true,” Judith said. “I think it's nice.”

“I guess.” Dooley shrugged, then turned to gaze in the direction of the Porter house. “Maybe I'll see if Gaby's home.” He yawned in an exaggerated manner. “See you, Mrs. Flynn.” His long legs were suddenly in gear as he all but flew across the cul-de-sac.

Smiling at the romance of youth, Judith approached Hillside Manor. Joe's MG was parked in the driveway. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and Joe was almost never home early on weekdays. Fearing that he might have fallen ill, she hurried into the house through the front door.

Joe was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of sparkling cider and reading a Western novel.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You're all right! How come you're home?”

Joe raised his head to accept Judith's kiss. “Woody and I closed the Shazri case this morning. We got the rest of the day off. I must have come home right after you and Renie went to lunch.”

Judith collapsed into a chair across the table from Joe. “Wonderful! Congratulations! Whodunit?”

Joe grinned. “It's the damnedest thing—Woody and I'd begun to think it was the brother. At least that he was the one who hired the hit man. But after we sifted through the evidence about a hundred times, we realized there was someone else involved. In fact,
I
realized it—thanks to Arlene Rankers.”

“Huh?” Judith looked stumped.

“Sure,” Joe replied cheerfully. “It was the carpet cleaners.”