Wed and Buried (11 page)

Mr. Artemis didn't take well to the implied criticism. “I depend on her to transport my very special creations. Tara understands workmanship. If there's even the slightest imperfection, she can have it tended to on site. You, my dear,” he added with caressing sarcasm, “haven't got the eye for such detail.”

Deirdre sniffed and gave a toss of her blond head. “I know damage when I see it. I still say Tara is careless. I wouldn't doubt that she wears your garments before she brings them here.”

Afraid that the conversation was not only getting off-track, but out of hand, Judith smiled ingratiatingly at Deirdre. “While you were helping Tara out of the wedding gown the other night, did she seem…upset?”

“Oh, very!” Deirdre's slender hands fluttered. “She adores that gown! It broke her heart to take it off.”

“Oh.” Judith's face fell. “That's why she was upset?”

Mr. Artemis nodded in his languid fashion. “Tara has a genuine affinity for my creations. Which,” he continued with a cold stare for Deirdre, “is why I permit her a few minor aberrations.” He glanced at the double chrome doors. “I certainly hope Rodney has gotten hold of her by now. This absenteeism has lost its charm. I need her tomorrow for the show at Nordquist's.”

It seemed to Judith that Tara's employer didn't understand the enormity of his model's defection. Perhaps he had not been fully informed. Or maybe he didn't want to know. Judith had the feeling that Mr. Artemis believed only in what suited him.

“I don't suppose,” Judith said in a rather whimsical
voice, “that you'd know why Tara was on the Belmont Hotel roof with Harley Davidson?” She gazed first at Mr. Artemis, then at Deirdre.

Mr. Artemis shrugged. “I've no idea. Indeed, I doubt very much that you saw Tara. This time of year, there are brides here, there, and everywhere. Tell me, Mrs. Flynn, do you have a particularly active imagination?” The designer's smile was somewhat smug.

“Not really,” Judith answered a bit more sharply than she'd intended. “Doesn't it strike you as unlikely that Harley Davidson would show up on the Belmont roof with a woman in a wedding dress who wasn't Tara?”

“Not at all.” Mr. Artemis poured himself some more champagne. “There's no accounting for what people like this disc jockey will do. Radio personalities are highly volatile, extremely unpredictable, and often addicted to drugs. Come, let us try on Flames of Desire.”

Judith jumped. “No! That is—I can't! I broke my ribs. I'm in a cast. I mean, a brace. You can't see it, but it's there, all big and bulky. I'll call you when I'm healed.” Judith practically galloped out of the salon.

She slowed her pace when she reached the sidewalk. Just before reaching the entrance to Ron's Bar and Grill, Judith spotted a familiar figure leaning against the building: It was Uncle Gurd, still wearing the blue dress and red patent leather pumps. He was holding a hand-lettered sign that said, “Will protest U. S. pig-faced government for cash. No checks accepted.”

Judith wanted to turn tail and flee, but Gurd had seen her. “Hey,” he yelled, “you got a spare dollar?”

“It's illegal in this city to verbally solicit,” Judith informed Uncle Gurd as she approached him warily. “You can get arrested.”

“Ha! I'll bet I can! The government arrests anybody for anything.” He paused as a well-dressed young man dropped a quarter in the cardboard box that lay next to Uncle Gurd's red pumps. “I'm testin' city ways,” he
said. “Folks dress mighty strange around here, so I'm tryin' out some different duds. So far, it ain't workin'—I been here ten minutes, and I only got ninety cents.”

“Maybe it's the dress,” Judith said through tight lips. “City fashions can be extreme, but there are some limits. How did you get here?”

“On the bus.” He shrugged, then nodded in the direction of Donner & Blitzen. “Judgin' from the other passengers, I fit right in, dress or no dress. There's some mighty peculiar people ridin' the bus in this town.” He shook his bald head. “I wanted to sit across the street by that big swanky department store, but they told me that spot's reserved for some other guy. Does the government regulate the beggars in this city, too?”

Judith had followed Gurd's gaze across the street to the corner display window where Billy Big Horn had sat for the past few years. At the moment, his usual panhandling post was vacant. But Billy moved around, as Judith recalled from seeing him in front of the Naples Hotel the night of the wedding rehearsal dinner.

“It's a courtesy,” Judith explained, trying to ignore the stares of passersby. “I've seen Billy Big Horn outside of Donner & Blitzen for a long time, and I've often given him a donation. Everyone acknowledges that corner as his spot. The government—the city—only regulates how panhandling is conducted, not where.”

“Well, I'm conductin' it real slow.” Uncle Gurd's leathery face showed disgust. “Maybe I'll go home. Can you give me a lift?”

To Judith's horror, she lied: “No, I'm not headed that way yet. You can catch a bus two blocks over and one block down. See you in the hedge.”

With a frantic step, she turned into Ron's Bar and Grill. Chastising herself for refusing a ride to Uncle Gurd just because he was dressed like a woman, she asked the bartender if her I. Magnifique box had shown up. It hadn't. The bartender was young, perhaps working his way
through graduate school, and seemed to sense Judith's distress.

“Would you care for something?” he asked in a kind voice.

Judith had also been a bartender, working nights at the Meat & Mingle three blocks from the McMonigle rental on Thurlow Street in the south end of town. During the day, she had served as head librarian in the local branch. Meanwhile, Dan had stayed home on the sofa, watching TV, napping, and eating and drinking and drinking and eating.

“I really shouldn't,” Judith said, gazing at the clock above the bar which indicated it was shortly before noon. She remembered the last time she'd had a drink alone in a bar. It had been the night when she'd waited for Joe, and he'd never shown up. Over twenty years had passed before she saw him again. The mere thought of all that lost time changed her mind.

“Oh, what the heck,” she said with an uncertain smile. “I'll have a Scotch—rocks.” The bartender struck Judith as very sweet. She'd always had a weakness for bartenders, not because she liked to drink, but because they were kindred spirits. Judith shared their enjoyment of other people's company, the ability to listen, and the capacity for compassion. Indeed, Dan had been a bartender when she met him, before he became permanently underemployed and grossly overweight.

“My name's Barry,” the bartender said, deftly serving the drink. “What was in your missing box?”

“A dress,” Judith replied. “A very expensive dress. In fact, it was an Artemis Bohl design. I believe he comes in here now and then.”

Barry chuckled. “He does, usually with his entourage. He holds court at that table down there.” The bartender nodded in the direction where Judith had seen Mr. Artemis and Tara earlier in the week. “We call it our designer table; he tips well.”

“That's the main thing,” Judith said, recalling how meager her tips had been with the crowd of riff-raff at the Meat & Mingle. “I don't suppose you've seen Tara Novotny in here the past couple of days?”

“The model?” Barry chuckled again. “No, not since Tuesday. I think it was Tuesday. She's something, isn't she? I've never seen her eat, though. How do those super-thin models keep alive? One glass of white wine, that's it.”

“I wouldn't know about being thin,” Judith said with a lame little laugh. “Keeping from being fat has always been my problem. You were here Tuesday? Then you must have been on duty when I lost that blasted dress.”

Barry looked thoughtful. “That's right, one of the servers asked me about it. Wow, that's really too bad. I hope you find it.” Barry now seemed a bit distracted as the lunch trade began arriving. “Excuse me, I've got orders to fill.”

Judith sipped at her drink and watched the influx of customers. The tables were filling up, mostly with office workers. A half-dozen older men in three-piece suits were scattered around the room, looking as if they were getting down to serious business, or serious drinking, or both. The stools at the bar were also becoming occupied. Judith moved her purse over a notch as a muscular man in shorts and tank top sat down next to her.

“Barry,” the newcomer called, “throw me a Cuervo. I've had a rough morning.”

Barry, who was mixing screwdrivers, nodded. “I got it, TNT. One tequila, straight up.”

Catching the name, Judith couldn't resist swerving on the stool to get a better look. The muscular man was in his thirties, and his ears and nose definitely showed signs of wear and tear. There were a couple of scars, too, on his lower lip and near his left eye.

“You're the boxer,” Judith said, and then lied: “I've seen you fight.”

The man put out a beefy hand. “TNT Tenino. Who are you, Dark Eyes?”

Judith was so flattered that she giggled. “Nobody. I mean, I'm Judith Flynn. Is it true that you're retired?”

“You bet.” TNT nodded at Barry as the shot of tequila was produced. “I did all right in the ring. Now I run clinics and check out new talent.”

“That's wonderful,” Judith said. “Is that why you had a rough morning? All aspects of the boxing profession must be a challenge.”

Barry pointed to Judith's now-empty glass. She didn't want another drink, but needed an excuse to stay at the bar and talk to Esperanza Highcastle's estranged husband. Reluctantly, she gave a thumbs-up sign to Barry.

“Teaching, my butt!” TNT growled, downing the tequila in one gulp. “It's women. Or woman.” He sketched a right cross at Barry, apparently the signal for another round. “You're not the kind who'd try to screw your old man, are you? I mean when it came to money, not…”

“No, no,” Judith answered hastily. “I'm very fond of my husband. Is your wife causing you trouble?”

TNT put his curly dark head in his hands. “Brother! You don't know the half of it! You marry a rich dame and figure you got it made. Just keep her happy in the sack, and no more worries, right? But not this one. It'd take an entire fight card to satisfy Espy. You know what?” His close-set brown eyes zeroed in on Judith. “I think she's one of those nymphos.”

“Really.” Judith sipped decorously at her second Scotch. “Your wife, you mean?”

TNT had now polished off his second tequila. “That's right, my wife. Some wife. She can't cook, she hates sports, she makes fun of my friends, she thinks she used to be married to Napoleon.” He feigned a left hook at Barry. “She doesn't drink, either. She's no damned fun. Except between the sheets or on the sofa or the rug or…
Hey, Bartender, you down for the count? Where's my Cuervo?”

Barry apologized, saying he had to mix a couple of martinis first. Judith cleared her throat, then reached for her purse. She couldn't possibly finish her second drink, not this early in the day.

“I take it you're separated?” Judith said, placing a ten-dollar bill and two ones on the bar.

TNT nodded as he accepted his third tequila. “She threw me out last Friday. I've been living at the Cascadia Hotel, but I had to get out. Espy canceled my credit cards. She's a bitch on wheels. You know a good lawyer?”

“Not really.” Somehow Judith didn't think that the fuddy-duddy Grover family attorney, William Ewart Gladstone Whiffel, would make a match with TNT Tenino. “Try the Yellow Pages. They list lawyers who specialize in divorce.”

“I need a real barracuda,” TNT declared, swallowing his third Jose Cuervo in one gulp. He lowered his head and his voice. “Hey, Mrs. Flynn, can I go home with you?”

J
UDITH REALLY WASN'T
sure how she ended up bringing TNT Tenino to Hillside Manor. Barry had tactfully refused to serve the ex-boxer another tequila, and after Judith had departed Ron's Bar and Grill, she realized she was being followed. At first, she thought it must be Uncle Gurd. But the old man had vacated the front of the restaurant and was nowhere in sight. Moments later TNT caught up with her while she waited to cross the street between I. Magnifique and the Donner & Blitzen parking garage. By that time, he was virtually in tears. Down to his last fifty dollars, he had nowhere to go. Did Mrs. Flynn know of a cheap motel?

She did, but wouldn't recommend such a seedy establishment to anyone, not even TNT Tenino. The B&B was full on this Thursday night, but Mike's bedroom on the third floor was available. Judith's soft heart melted. Maybe fate was paying her back for ditching Uncle Gurd. If she could put up with him in the hedge, she could suffer through a night with TNT. Besides, she really wanted to know more about Esperanza Highcastle and her employee, Harley Davidson.

“Has your wife had a lot of problems with Harley?” she'd asked TNT as they drove up the south side of Heraldsgate Hill.

TNT, who was now exhibiting the effects of his three shots of tequila, had mumbled that Esperanza had problems with everyone and everything. As for Harley, he had a dirty mouth; he'd get the station's license yanked. “Punk. Radio punk,” he muttered. “Rocker punk. I hate him.”

“But he's dead,” Judith had pointed out.

“Good,” TNT had said, and passed out.

Half an hour later, TNT was still sleeping it off in the Subaru while Judith questioned her sanity.

“You
what?
” Renie demanded over the phone. “Never mind, I'm coming over. I have to drop off a casserole for the funeral freezer.”

Arlene Rankers and a couple of other SOTS, as Our Lady, Star of the Sea's parishioners were known, were in charge of keeping the church supplied with food for funeral receptions. Judith did her share, but the rotation was alphabetical. Last names beginning with F wouldn't be called on until the first week of September.

Renie arrived shortly before two. When she pulled the big blue Chev into the driveway, she saw TNT Tenino's head lolling against the passenger seat's upholstery.

“You better give him an eight count,” Renie advised Judith as the cousins sat down in the living room. “How long has he been out?”

Judith considered. “An hour? Hour and a half? Really, I think he was tired. It sounds as if he's been through a rough patch with Esperanza. Or Espy, as he calls her.”

“I don't doubt that,” Renie allowed. “But I honestly can't see how you could…” She stopped, a hand at her tousled chestnut curls. “Yes, I can. You do some of the weirdest things, just because you can't say no.”

“I said no to Uncle Gurd,” Judith declared, recounting the meeting on the sidewalk. “But I felt bad about it. Why do I care what people think?”

“Because you own your own business and have to keep up a public image? That's good enough for me,” Renie
asserted, then changed the subject. “What about your visit to Artemis Bohl?”

Judith related what had happened, and in the process, tried to sort through the exchange for anything that might clarify the mystery. “Tara came back with the dress, so we know she was seen that night after I spotted her with Harley on the roof. We also know that she and Harley were not a romantic duo—though I thought I detected a note of doubt in Mr. Artemis's manner. What I'd like to find out is who stood to gain by Harley's death. Did you ask Kip about family or friends?”

“I asked Kerri to ask him,” Renie replied, sipping a large Pepsi. “Kip told her that Harley was an orphan. He was born blind and abandoned by his unwed mother. Finding adoptive parents for a blind child is pretty hard. Harley went from orphanage to foster home and back again until he ran away when he was about fifteen. That was in the Midwest, Indiana, I think. He was fascinated with radio, and sort of bummed his way west, working for small stations. Eventually, he landed in L.A., and finally got a shot at being on the air. Harley was a big deal down there, but came a cropper and headed north. He'd been with KRAS-FM for almost five years, which is almost a record in radio. And yes,” Renie added with a smirk, “his real name is John Smith.”

“So,” Judith sighed, “no relatives. Friends? Girlfriends? Wives? Ex-wives?”

“He never married, though there have been girlfriends,” Renie answered. “And I do mean
girl
friends. Harley rarely went out with any female who was old enough to drive. He had a penchant for fifteen-year-olds.”

“Oh, dear.” Judith grimaced. “That's illegal. Groupies, I suppose.”

“No doubt.” Renie drank thirstily. The afternoon had grown very warm, and though the doors and windows were open, the living room felt stuffy. “I don't envy Joe
and Woody trying to track down all those teenaged girls and then interviewing them.” Despite the heat, Renie shuddered.

“Hmmm,” Judith murmured. “Yes, that could be a pain. So who gets his money? According to Darrell, Harley had pots of it, especially under-the-table payoffs.”

“If that's true, the IRS will get most of it,” Renie said. “Don't they always?”

“They sure do,” Judith said with bitterness. And then she launched into her conversation with Merle Rundberg.

Renie was appalled, as well as sympathetic. “Try Sig. Men are often more reasonable about money than women,” Renie counseled. “Or maybe it's that they have a better sense of fair play.”

“Maybe.” Judith couldn't help but sound dubious. “Drat. I was hoping that money could be a motive. But under the circumstances, I don't see how.”

“Maybe it is, in a different way,” Renie suggested. “You know, someone who wanted to take over from Harley.”

Judith only half heard Renie. “I don't believe that Harley and Tara were strangers to each other. Maybe they weren't lovers, but nobody pulls a stunt like that one on the Belmont roof unless there's some sort of history.”

Renie inclined her head. “You're right. Why were they there in the first place? Has Joe asked that question?”

“I don't know,” Judith admitted. “Maybe not, since he didn't believe I saw them in the first place.”

Renie put her feet up on the coffee table. “
I
believe you saw Harley and Tara. Where do you suppose she's gone?”

“Where isn't as important as why,” Judith responded, nibbling on her forefinger. “She's the key.”

“Maybe,” Renie allowed as Sweetums sauntered in from the parlor and collapsed in front of the empty fireplace. “But why the Belmont? What was the attraction?”

Judith's dark eyes lighted on Renie's face. “I've won
dered. We know it wasn't locked up tight. Apparently, anyone could have gone inside. But to what purpose? All I can think of are transients, looking for an empty bed.”

Renie got to her feet. “Speaking of transients, I'd better scoot. I had a rush project dumped on me by the local council of churches this morning. They're putting out a brochure to make the public more aware of the homeless. Unfortunately, they had to fire the first two designers. So guess who has to bail them out?” Renie made a self-deprecating face.

“You could start with TNT Tenino,” Judith said dryly, as she walked her cousin through the open French doors. “How about a picture of him sleeping in my car?”

But TNT wasn't sleeping. Gertrude was standing beside the Subaru, using her walker as a weapon.

“Hey, you bum!” she yelled. “Get the hell out of my daughter's car! Come on, or I'm calling the cops!”

“Hi, Aunt Gertrude, bye, Aunt Gertrude.” Renie raced for the Chev.

TNT was struggling to sit up. “Where am I? What happened? Did I lose the fight?”

“You lost your mind, you moron!” shouted Gertrude. “It's bad enough we've got some crazy old fart living in the hedge, now we got some knothead sleeping in the driveway!” As soon as TNT stuck his legs outside of the car, Gertrude hit him with the walker.

“Stop that!” Judith rushed to restrain her mother. “Mr. Tenino is a guest. Leave him alone, he's…tired.”

“What?” Gertrude's small eyes got even smaller. “This is one of your lame-brained B&B guests? So why isn't he sleeping in a bed or eating breakfast?”

“He should be. He will be.” Judith beckoned to TNT. “Come on, Mr. Tenino, I'll show you to your room.”

A bleary-eyed TNT shot Gertrude a wary glance, then followed Judith into the house. “I could eat a horse,” he announced as he stepped into the hallway that led to the kitchen.

“I'll make you some lunch,” Judith said wearily. “There, sit at the table. How about ham and cheese?”

“A ham would be great,” TNT said, flopping into a chair. “You can skip the cheese.”

Judith began slicing slabs of ham, added bread, and despite TNT's exhortation, threw in some Havarti for good measure. The ex-boxer ate ravenously.

“I'm so sorry about your marital problems,” Judith said, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. “What caused the break-up?”

“Huh?” TNT looked up from his third slice of ham. “Sex. Money. The usual stuff. Espy liked to get it on with other guys, like George Washington and Admiral Byrd. There are limits to what a man should put up with, right?” TNT stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth. “I wondered about her and that Davidson sometimes, but I don't know for sure. I threatened to deck him once, but it didn't seem fair, him being blind. So I just shook him a little. He laughed. Boy, did that tick me off!”

“Oh? When was that?” Judith proffered a jar of dill pickles.

Digging around inside the pickle jar, TNT considered. “What's today?”

Judith said it was Thursday.

“Last Friday,” TNT asserted, crunching a pickle between his teeth. “Around noon. Harley had wound up his stupid show, and started needling me about Espy. I told him if he ever touched her, I'd kill him.”

“So,” Judith said slowly, “you were sort of…ah…gratified when you heard Harley had been killed.”

TNT seemed puzzled by the remark. “Gratified? You mean as in grateful? Well, yeah, I guess so, but that won't stop Espy from getting her hooks into some other poor sap, like Chuck Rawls or Julius Caesar.”

It occurred to Judith that no one showed any regret over Harley's demise. Despite the fact that the late disc jockey
sounded like a reprehensible person, she was starting to feel sorry for him.

“Do you have any idea who might have stabbed Harley?” she inquired in what she hoped was a conversational tone.

TNT was eating more ham. “Naw. It could have been anybody with a creep like him. Maybe it was the drugs. It usually is.”

Judith tried to conceal her surprise. “What drugs?”

“I heard he got busted in L.A. for selling drugs to teenagers.” TNT had finally gotten around to the Havarti cheese. “That's why he came up here. Somebody at the station told me that. I forget who.”

“Did Harley do drugs?” Judith asked.

TNT shrugged. “Maybe. All those radio guys act like they're high, at least when they're on the air. You got any ice cream? I really like ice cream.”

Judith had rocky road, blackberry ribbon, and french vanilla. TNT said he'd try all of them. She was dishing each variety into separate bowls when Uncle Gurd came into the kitchen. He was now wearing only plaid boxer shorts.

“Ice cream!” Gurd exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “Now I'm one for ice cream. Why didn't you tell me you had all these fancy kinds?”

Judith cleaned out the cartons of rocky road and french vanilla. She had just enough blackberry ribbon left over for Gertrude's dessert. “Are you going to eat it here or in the hedge?” Judith asked somewhat sharply.

Uncle Gurd considered. “The hedge. It's real nice in there, except for the bees.” Carrying his two bowls, he exited the kitchen.

“Is that your father?” TNT inquired with mild interest.

“No!” Judith was horrified. “I hardly know him. He just…showed up, with some other people.”

“You've got some real characters around here,” TNT mused. “That old lady with the walker, this bald guy in
his underwear—who else is wandering around this place?”

Judith declined to answer.

 

Joe was wild. He couldn't understand how Judith had been soft-hearted enough or sufficiently gullible or just plain stupid to let TNT Tenino stay at Hillside Manor. It wasn't merely that Joe felt an insolvent hard-drinking ex-boxer who'd been thrown out by his wife could cause some problems: Joe pointedly reminded Judith that TNT was also a suspect in the murder investigation.

“You never said he was a suspect,” Judith asserted as Joe paced the kitchen. “If you'd tell me these things, I'd be able to…”

Joe stomped off through the narrow hallway that led to the back porch. “I'm going for a walk. Don't hold dinner.” The screen slammed behind him.

“I don't think the case is going well,” Judith confided to Renie an hour later on the phone. “Joe's really crabby.”

“Will TNT leave tomorrow?” Renie asked, raising her voice over the shouts of various Jones offspring who wanted to use the phone.

“I hope so,” Judith said in a worried tone. “But if he's only got fifty dollars, where can he go?”

“He must have access to money,” Renie said after an aside to her children to shut up or she'd yank the phone out of the wall. “Bill says he made a good living as a boxer. Unless he's blown it. Even so, this is a community property state. TNT ought to be able to get his hands on some cash. Esperanza Highcastle is stinking rich.”

“Maybe they had a pre-nup,” Judith suggested. “Wealthy people know how to tie up their money. I really have to get him out of here by tomorrow or Joe will blow a gasket.”