Wed and Buried (16 page)

“Another photo op down the drain. Oh, well.” Morris chuckled. “All I saw on that roof was a bunch of pigeon doo and some cigars.”

Judith's grip on the phone tightened. “Cigars?”

“Yeah, about a half-dozen brand new cigars scattered around,” Morris replied. “I've got an eye for detail, it's part of my work. But they didn't
say
anything, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I think so,” Judith said though she wondered if
the cigars said something that had nothing to do with visual aesthetics. “Why cigars? Where did they come from?”

“Maybe from Harley,” Morris answered. “He liked cigars. He must have dropped them. Got to run, Mrs. Flynn. I'll send the bill to the Rundbergs. Meanwhile, try to get your bride and groom to return the proofs by Friday, okay? I'm off to Europe week after next and won't be back until the end of the month. See you.”

Judith's mind flashed back to the rehearsal dinner. She heard herself nagging Joe about his inquiry outside of the Naples and Belmont hotels. She saw him shrugging off the queries, then lighting up a big fat cigar. He'd gotten it from Kobe, the Naples parking attendant. But where had Kobe gotten the cigar in the first place? And why hadn't the cigars still been on the Belmont roof when she and Renie had gone there with Joe and Woody?

Judith sensed that the cigar played some part in her little mystery. She was determined to find out how before everything went up in smoke.

F
UELED BY A
six-pack of Pepsi, Renie was hard at work in the basement den. “Go away,” she mumbled when Judith appeared on the basement steps. “I'm busy.”

“You need a break,” Judith said, crossing through the one-time playroom that was now used mainly for storage. “Bill told me so.”

“Bill would never say any such thing,” Renie declared, still not looking up from her drawing board. “Good-bye.”

“Morris Mitchell saw cigars,” said Judith as Clarence, the Holland dwarf lop, sniffed at her shoes.

“Morris Mitchell can see visions of cigars, stars, and men on Mars for all I care,” Renie snapped, glaring at her cousin. “Are you nuts? This is the first time you've ever barged in here to pester me while I'm up against a deadline. I'm about to get very angry.”

“Don't. Please.” Judith put on her most pathetic face. “I need to talk to somebody. Just for five minutes. Joe's working this weekend.”

“So am I,” Renie retorted, though her expression had softened a bit. “I don't know why you can't let this thing go. Joe and Woody are pros. If you keep meddling, Joe's going to blow a gasket.”

“I've told you I have to vindicate myself,” Judith said doggedly. “You
seemed
to understand. And if that vindication comes through figuring out who killed Harley, so be it.”

Renie didn't look convinced. With a huge sigh of reluctance, she swiveled around in her chair. “Okay, you've got five minutes. But watch out for Clarence. He likes to get under foot.”

Judith began by telling Renie that Joe and Woody were going through the Belmont one more time, trying to figure out what seemed to make it such a magnet to various persons involved in the murder case. She touched lightly on her visit to the Dooley house, but emphasized Morris Mitchell's cigar sighting on the old hotel roof.

“That's the part that puzzles me most,” Judith said in conclusion. “It suggests something, but I don't know what.”

A casual listener might have dismissed Judith's statement, but Renie instinctively understood. If Judith felt the cigars were important, then they probably were. On several occasions Judith had figured out important clues from seemingly trivial items. Renie would give her cousin the benefit of a doubt.

“And Joe actually smoked one of these cigars the night of the rehearsal dinner?” Renie finally inquired.

As Clarence sat on her left foot, Judith nodded. “That is, he smoked
a
cigar. Kobe, the parking attendant, gave it to him.”

Renie fiddled with a couple of drafting pencils. “Usually, cigars are handed out at the birth of babies or at bachelor parties. But not at rehearsal dinners, which, I understand, is what the Naples was hosting for much of June. No tie-in with cigars there. You haven't asked Joe, I take it?”

“I haven't seen him since I talked to Morris.” Trying gently to shake Clarence loose, Judith leaned up against a tall filing cabinet. The bunny resisted, planting his own
oversized hind paws firmly on each of Judith's shoes. “I suppose it's silly—Kobe had probably been given the cigar, and doesn't smoke, so he passed it on to Joe. But that doesn't explain why Morris saw several of them on the Belmont roof. Why were they there and where did they go?”

Renie was fingering her short chin. “The homeless don't bring cigars to their self-proclaimed shelter. But somebody like Harley or TNT or even Tara might. Women are into cigars these days.”

“True.” Judith glanced down at Clarence, who had finally hopped off of her person and was now circling her feet. His small, fluffy beige fur stood slightly on end, and he had one ear up and one ear down. “So Joe and Woody are going through the Belmont one last time, with a fine-toothed comb.”

“Looking for cigars,” Renie remarked rather absently. “Or something. Is that it?” She gazed up at Judith with narrowed brown eyes.

“You mean…Oh, am I done? Well, I guess so. You don't have any ideas?”

“Not about your little mystery. All my ideas are here.” Renie tapped her drawing board. “The only thing I can say is that you actually have two mysteries, which may or may not have anything to do with each other. One is Harley's murder. The other is the Belmont itself.”

Judith nodded eagerly. “That's so. But it's too much of a coincidence for the murder and whatever has been happening at the Belmont
not
to be tied in, right?”

“The people involved are tied in, yes,” Renie replied somewhat impatiently. “Maybe Harley discovered what was going on at the old hotel. He had to be silenced.”

Judith clapped her hands. “Yes! I hadn't thought of that slant. Brilliant, coz!” She reached out to grasp Renie's hand, and in the process, stepped on Clarence.

The rabbit let out a terrified cry, rolled over, and
thrashed about. Renie leaped from her chair and dove for Clarence, who had gone completely limp.

“Baby boy!” Renie shrieked in horror. “Darling bunny! Oh, Clarence! You're hurt! Help!”

Next to the filing cabinet, Judith stood as if frozen. “Coz! I feel terrible! I didn't mean to…”

But Renie had grabbed her cordless phone and was dialing frantically. “Get Bill,” she ordered Judith. “Hurry!”

With a last glance at the motionless Clarence, Judith dashed upstairs. Bill, however, was nowhere to be found. A quick look outside showed that the Jones's Chev, which had been parked in front of the house when Judith arrived, was now gone. A shout up the stairs that led to the bedrooms brought no response. Apparently none of the Jones children were home. Judith hurried back to the basement where an agitated Renie was carefully placing the injured rabbit into a cardboard pet carrier.

“The regular vet is closed today,” Renie moaned, almost in tears. “We'll have to take him to the emergency clinic across the canal.”

“‘We'll'?” Judith echoed.

Renie's face hardened. “You got it. Bill's gone, right? You're the one who stepped on Clarence, you clumsy moron. You're the designated ambulance driver. Let's hit it.”

Renie cradled the carrier all the way to the emergency pet clinic, meanwhile making soothing, cooing noises which were interspersed with heartfelt lamentations: “Clarence may have a broken back.” “Clarence may be paralyzed.” “Clarence may be dead.”

Grimly, Judith remained silent. She felt wretched about hurting the bunny, but the poor thing wasn't exactly irreplaceable. Rabbits being what they were, there must be at least a thousand more Clarences in the city. By tomorrow, there'd be another thousand. They weren't an endangered species. Or, Judith thought with a guilty pang, maybe they were, with careless people stepping on them.

The receptionist said they could take Clarence right away, but tactfully told Renie and Judith to wait outside. It was very unusual for a rabbit to cry out, and often signaled the worst. Looking stricken, Renie began to pace the small waiting room.

“Coz,” Judith finally said in a miserable voice, “I can't tell you how awful I feel. I remember when Sweetums was attacked by that dreadful dog, and I was afraid that he might not make it. But I kept telling myself that maybe we could find another cat. I realized then that even Sweetums isn't…um…ah…er…”

While Judith fumbled for words and Renie gave her cousin a baleful stare, a white-coated woman veterinarian came out of the examining room. “I'm Dr. Leone,” she said in hushed tones. “I'm afraid I have bad news.”

Renie blanched and gripped Judith's hand. “No! Oh, please!”

The vet nodded solemnly. “We can't find Clarence. He jumped off the examining table and he's hiding. Could you come back with us and see if you can lure him out into the open? He's extremely frisky. What have you been feeding him?”

Renie's expression changed from grief to pique. “Everything,” she snapped. “That rabbit eats like a pig.” Releasing Judith's hand, she marched off to the examining room.

Judith collapsed on the brown vinyl couch. She was experiencing the first wave of relief when the door opened and Darrell Mims appeared with a black and white mutt in his arms. Judith and Darrell exchanged startled looks.

“Ms. Flynn, right?” Darrell said. “Gee, what a surprise.” His smile was thin as he proceeded to the reception desk.

His dog, Sound Bite, had gotten into a fight with a German Shepherd. A badly torn ear, an injured neck, and a chewed-up leg were the unfortunate results. Darrell explained this to the receptionist who made sympathetic
noises, as much for the benefit of the owner as for the dog, and said it would be only a few minutes before Dr. Leone could see Sound Bite.

“Do you live around here?” Darrell asked as he sat down next to Judith on the couch.

Judith explained that she didn't, but that she and her cousin had come to the nearest emergency clinic. Darrell responded that he had an apartment just four blocks away, near one of the bridges that spanned the canal.

“This is where I usually bring Sound Bite,” he added, gazing down at the dog, who was lying in his lap and whimpering. “Gosh, wouldn't you know it? Just when I was thinking that everything was going my way!”

“Oh?” Judith said with interest. “How is that?”

Despite his pet's discomfort, Darrell managed a grin. “I'm going on air Monday. They're giving me a trial run as Harley's replacement. Isn't that something?”

“That's wonderful,” Judith declared with a warm smile of her own. “Were you surprised?”

Patting the dog, Darrell nodded. “I sure was. I'd begged Chuck Rawls for the chance, and he finally took my case to Ms. Highcastle. She gave the go-ahead, so now it's up to me.”

Judith tried to imagine the drastic change from Harley Davidson to Blip Man. “You'll be doing a different…what do you call it? Format?”

Darrell nodded again, this time with so much vigor that Sound Bite began to howl. “You bet. I'm going in for a much softer sound, and none of that nasty, suggestive stuff. Boy, I can hardly wait.”

The wait was over for Sound Bite. Dr. Leone reappeared with Renie in tow, holding the pet carrier and looking vexed.

“Clarence is fine,” Renie announced. “Like most of our family, he tends to overdramatize himself.”

“Where was he?” Judith asked, rising to her feet.

“In Dr. Leone's purse.” Renie set the carrier down on the floor. It immediately began to move.

Feeling vaguely cross-eyed, Judith kept one eye on the carrier and the other on Renie, who was waiting for the bill. The receptionist whispered the amount softly, as if it were a secret password.

“Seventy-five dollars?” Renie shrieked. “What for? Clarence didn't require treatment. Are you crazy?”

The receptionist's expression was bland. “We still have to charge for an office call, and since this is an emergency situation, it's somewhat extra.”

“
Somewhat?
” Renie was practically hopping up and down. So was the pet carrier, which had almost reached the front door. “A regular visit to Dr. Fine is ten bucks.”

“This isn't Dr. Fine's clinic, it's Dr. Leone's,” the receptionist replied with a touch of spirit. “If I were you, Mrs. Jones, I'd be thankful that you weren't charged for damages. Apparently, Clarence chewed through the strap on Dr. Leone's Gucci purse.”

“Gucci!” Renie cried. “Sure, the vet can afford Gucci purses while I'm going to be reduced to carrying my stuff around in a paper sack.”

Judith could see that the argument was going nowhere, but that Clarence was. The carrier had reached the door, and anyone coming through from outside would slam into the rabbit's transportation.

“Clarence is leaving,” Judith announced, going over to the entrance to grab the cardboard box.

Renie swerved on her heels. “Oh, damn!” Sighing heavily, she rummaged in her handbag. “Okay, okay. I'll pay, but I'm not happy about it.”

The receptionist looked smug. “Thank you, Mrs. Jones. I knew you'd see reason. By the way, Dr. Leone mentioned that your rabbit is overweight. He's in grave danger of becoming morbidly obese. I suggest you put him on an alfalfa diet.”

Renie's mouth clamped into a straight line. “He hates
alfalfa. He loves his Fat Boy food, and he'll only drink Evian water. Do you want his whole personality ruined? Do you want me even more upset? How can we engage Clarence in family fun when he's grumpy?”

“We have counseling,” the receptionist responded.

“I don't need counseling,” Renie said. “My husband's a psychologist.”

“I don't mean you,” the receptionist said with a slight smirk. “I mean the rabbit.”

 

The rest of the weekend passed without any sign of Tara and de Tourville, Uncle Gurd, or the lavender dress. Joe and Woody had spent both Saturday and Sunday combing the Belmont Hotel. The only thing they had found of interest was in the room below the one where Harley Davidson had been killed.

“It showed signs of occupancy,” Joe told Judith late Sunday night as they prepared for bed. “Not the kind you'd expect from vagrants, but of ordinary activity. There was a fairly new padlock to keep people out. The nightstand and dresser drawers had been left open, as if somebody had conducted a hurried search. The twin beds were rumpled, and the water in the bathroom sink and toilet ran clear. The pipes into that unit hadn't been allowed to collect rust.”

Judith, who was shrugging out of her summer-weight cotton robe, asked Joe about fingerprints. Joe replied that there were plenty.

“The dust seeped in there, just like it did all over the rest of the hotel,” he informed his wife. “We'll see what we can get from the lab.”

“Was anything left behind? You know, like a newspaper or cigarette butts or fast-food bags?”

Joe shook his head. “Not a trace. That's what bugged Woody and me. Whoever used that room was damned careful to clean up afterward.”