“You got a reprieve,” Ingrid Heffelman announced. “Not that I agree with it.”
“What do you mean?” Judith asked, moving away from her mother and Renie to hear more clearly.
“The board deadlocked, with one abstention,” Ingrid said in disgust. “They’ll have to vote again next month. Consider yourself on probation. Meanwhile, if you find another damned corpse, your innkeeping goose is cooked.”
“I won’t,” Judith asserted. “I promise.”
What a relief!” Judith exclaimed after the cousins left the toolshed. “I was sure that Ingrid would convince the board that I’m a blight on the profession.”
“Now you can focus on your vacation,” Renie pointed out.
“I will,” Judith promised. She looked through the window over the kitchen sink. “Darn. It’s starting to rain. I won’t be able to coax Joe out to the backyard to hit baseballs until tomorrow.”
“That’s okay,” Renie said, picking up her big black handbag from the counter. “It’ll give you time to remind your mother what to say.”
“True.” Judith followed Renie as she headed for the back door. “I thought you’d mention why we were making the bet—like asking Mother why she hasn’t called Joe by any of her more insulting names lately.”
Renie shrugged. “I assume that’s part of her recent lack of pep. But she perked up after she heard our plan.”
“You didn’t specify what the bet was for,” Judith pointed out.
“Of course not.” Renie slung the handbag over her shoulder and opened the back door. “Then I would’ve had to explain about the usual names she calls Joe and she might’ve turned ornery.”
“Oh.” Judith nodded. “And just as well you didn’t mention the vacation part. Mother might have balked. She hates it when I go away.”
“So does my mom,” Renie said. “Like to my own house instead of her apartment. See you.”
When Joe arrived at five-thirty, Judith was preparing appetizers for the guests’ social hour. “Where’ve you been all afternoon?” she asked.
“Research,” he told her, hanging his jacket on a peg in the hallway between the kitchen and the back door.
“I thought you turned down your last two cases.”
“I did,” Joe said, kissing Judith’s cheek. “Defend me against the infidel. As in ‘infidelity.’ I’m sick of following husbands and wives who stray. Why don’t suspicious spouses just ask?”
Judith mixed hard-boiled egg yolks with mayonnaise and tiny shrimp. “So what kind of research were you doing?”
“For our vacation,” Joe replied. “Sporting goods stores, the travel agent on top of Heraldsgate Hill, checking with Bill and his resources.”
“Have you made a choice?”
Joe took a bottle of Harp lager out of the fridge. “I’ve narrowed it down to three places. Bill says he’ll go along with any of them.”
“The Joneses will definitely come with us?” Judith asked.
“So it seems.” Joe removed the lid from the lager and eyed the deviled eggs Judith was sprinkling with paprika. “May I?”
“Just one.” From overhead, Judith could hear some of the guests stirring. Four of the six rooms were occupied—not a bad number for a Tuesday in early March. “What about dates?”
Washing down a bite of egg with the beer, Joe strolled over to the calendar on the bulletin board. “That’s tricky, since we don’t know our destination. The third week of March would work. But,” he added, “the bet’s still on, so nothing can be firmed up.”
Judith shrugged. “We can’t force Mother to say what each of us wants to hear. Maybe,” Judith said, avoiding Joe’s gaze, “we should have made a different kind of bet.”
Joe chuckled. “You’re waffling. You know I’m going to win.”
“Well…given Mother’s history, the odds are in your favor.”
“You bet they are,” said Joe.
But, Judith thought smugly, Joe didn’t know the deck was stacked against him.
The rain stopped during the night. Wednesday, the third of March, dawned with mostly blue skies and only a thirty percent chance of rain. Of course the local forecast changed approximately every half hour. As a native, Judith trusted her instincts, not the meteorologists.
When her cleaning woman, Phyliss Rackley, arrived, Judith informed her that the plan for the day would be slightly altered.
“I’ve asked Joe to help clean out some stuff from the garage,” Judith explained, “so I won’t have time to fold the laundry when you get done. Leave it in the pantry and I’ll get to it later.”
“Later?” Phyliss’s beady eyes scrutinized Judith. “It’s later than you think. Saint Peter’s going tick-a-lock with those pearly gates for me even as we speak. I’m poorly. Very poorly.”
Judith feigned sympathy. “Really? That’s a shame. Maybe you should take the day off to see a doctor.”
Phyliss’s eyes practically bugged out. “Are you serious? You think I’m…terminal?”
Judith shrugged. “You know your own body. You’ve had so many close calls that I’m hardly surprised if The End Is Near.”
“Well.” Phyliss swallowed so hard Judith could see her Adam’s apple move on her scrawny neck. “I might be able to last the day if I take my tonic.”
“Good idea.” Having dismissed her cleaning woman’s latest bout of hypochondria, Judith headed outside to find Joe in the backyard, swinging a golf club.
“Where’d you find that?” Judith asked.
“In the cupboard on the side of the garage,” Joe replied. He took another swing. “There’s almost a complete set. They aren’t mine.”
“They belonged to my father,” Judith said. “He golfed. The clubs must be seventy years old.”
“They’re not exactly the latest graphite type,” Joe noted, looking up at the gray clouds that were gathering overhead. “It’s going to rain. We should put off this job until afternoon. Or tomorrow.”
“No.” Judith’s tone was unusually sharp. “I mean, it could rain until the end of June. We’ll be in the garage most of the time anyway.”
Joe looked resigned. “So what should I do with these clubs?”
“Get rid of them, I guess. Bill used to golf once in a while but he hasn’t done that in years.” She paused. “Let me show them to Mother. Did you find Mike’s Louisville Slugger yet?”
“I saw it in there,” Joe replied. “Does he want it back?”
“He might—for the boys,” Judith said. “Our grandsons are getting old enough to play ball.”
“Okay.” Joe handed Judith what looked to her like a club that might be some kind of iron. He went back to the garage; she hurried to the toolshed.
“Mother,” she said, “it’s time to strut your stuff.”
“What stuff?” Gertrude retorted, looking glum. “My stuff lost its stuffing a long time ago. What’s with the golf club? Are you going to beat me with it if I don’t do whatever I’m supposed to do?”
“It’s part of the set that belonged to my father,” Judith said, showing the club to her mother. “Remember?”
With a tentative hand, the old lady reached out to touch the club’s shaft. “Oh yes. I remember,” she said softly. “He was no Bobby Jones, but he tried. And he never cheated like some golfers do.”
“Ah…that’s true. My father was the soul of integrity.”
Gertrude nodded. “More than you can say for some.” She shot her daughter a sharp glance. “Well? What do I say when Lunk—”
“You say,” Judith interrupted quickly before Gertrude could finish the derogatory nickname, “‘Way to go, Joe.’”
“Huh. Okay, help me to the door. I can do it from there, can’t I?”
“Sure.”
After getting Gertrude positioned in the doorway, Judith went back outside and retrieved the baseball she’d found in the garage and hidden under a fuchsia bush by the toolshed. Joe was coming from the garage with the baseball bat, an infielder’s mitt, and a pair of badminton rackets that needed to be restrung.