Bantam of the Opera (20 page)

Judith wasn't completely satisfied. “What about Inez? She must have a lot of clout.”

Justin exchanged an uneasy glance with Tippy. “She does,” he replied, “but she's not a tenor.”

Renie gave a halfhearted nod. “She records for Schutzendorf, though.”

“Yes.” Justin seemed unwilling to say more.

“So who were you signaling to?” The question spilled from Judith's lips.

“Signaling?” Tippy frowned. “Oh! The nightie! It was for Justin's benefit. He worries about me when we're off on our own, so I always try to communicate with him somehow to let him know I'm okay.” To Judith's surprise, Tippy actually blushed.

“I see.” Judith spoke blandly as she got to her feet. “By
the way, Mr. Kerr, I don't suppose you noticed anything strange before the performance Saturday night?”

Justin gave a shake of his head. “I kept to my dressing room. Once Pacetti went on, there was no need for me to hang around in the wings. Being an understudy is tough. You half hope the singer you're backing up will break a leg, and then you hate yourself for being so opportunistic.”

“But Pacetti did—in effect—break a leg,” Judith pointed out. “Were you summoned at that point?”

“Oh, yes.” Justin nodded vigorously. “I came out right away, but all hell had broken loose. The next thing I knew, an ambulance was on its way and Maestro Dunkowitz and Creighton Layton were arguing about whether or not to go on with the performance. Dunkowitz refused. He said he couldn't conduct if there was anything seriously wrong with Pacetti.”

Renie seemed to have become completely swallowed up by the raincoat. Only her head showed, the curly chestnut hair making her look not unlike a small frazzled flower on a big brown stalk. “So what was going on at that point?” she inquired. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

Justin clapped a hand to his forehead. “It was all out of the ordinary! Everyone was going berserk. The chorus, the supers, the stagehands—I tried to find Tippy, but it took a while in all the confusion.”

“Plunkett was giving me about a hundred orders at once,” said Tippy, still gripping the towel as she got off the bed. “Most of them were contradictory. Finally, I had to join him and Schutzendorf in following the ambulance up to the hospital. Amina rode with Pacetti, of course.”

Judith tried to piece the sequence of events together. “But you had time to rinse out Pacetti's champagne glass?”

“Yes, Winnie insisted I do that. Germs, you know—in case someone picked it up and drank from it by mistake.” Tippy wrinkled her nose at such fastidiousness.

Judith did her best not to sound like an official interro
gator. “Did you notice how much liquid was left in the glass?”

Tippy studied her bare feet. “Oh—I'm not sure. Half, maybe.”

“Plunkett didn't tell you to retrieve the thermos?” Judith asked.

“I don't think he thought about it. Mrs. Pacetti always toted that around.”

Judith nodded, then gave both Kerrs an ingratiating smile. “It's certainly wonderful for cousins to be so close. Renie and I have always been like sisters. We're both only children and we grew up within two blocks of each other. Our mothers were sisters. Were yours, too?”

Justin started to reply, but Tippy spoke for both of them. “Yes, they were very close. In age, as well as in feeling.”

“That's endearing,” Judith beamed. She extended her hand, first to Tippy, then to Justin. “Be careful. If you really think you know who the murderer is, don't broadcast it. You're not safe until you get out of town. Or until the killer does.”

Victoria and Justin Kerr looked very solemn. In the elevator, Judith gave an annoyed shake of her head. “Damn! I'd like to believe that pair!”

“I don't believe
you
. What do you mean about our mothers being sisters? They're sisters-in-law, you idiot!” Renie slouched down in the raincoat, in apparent dismay at Judith's gaffe.

“Of course they are,” Judith replied with an evil twinkle. “And their mothers aren't sisters, either.”

“Huh?” Like a turtle, Renie's head shot up out of the raincoat. “What do you mean? Oh!”

“That's right. They both wouldn't be named Kerr. Either their fathers were brothers, which means they'd have the same last name, or else they're not cousins.”

Renie gave a little shake of her head. “Then…what are they?”

“I don't know,” Judith replied as the elevator glided to the lobby level. “We'll let Woody figure that one out. But
I do know this—Justin says Tippy would do anything for him. Pacetti dies, and Justin gets his big chance. Classic scenario, right? But with Pacetti gone, Justin loses a potential patron. So when is a motive not a motive?”

“When Pacetti has already refused to sponsor Justin?”

Judith raised her eyebrows. “I never thought of that. Oh, dear.”

The cousins got out of the elevator. The raincoat flapped around Renie's ankles. They descended into the lower reaches of the parking garage.

“Inez may not be a tenor, but she's falling all over Justin and she's big news in the opera world. Why not let her be his patron?” Renie remarked as she got into the driver's side of the car. “Or is the price too high?”

Judith arched her eyebrows, then fastened her seat belt. “As in, His Body? It could figure, especially if Tippy is not Miss or Ms. but Mrs. Kerr.”

“That makes sense,” replied Renie, girding herself to back the big Chevrolet out of the narrow parking slot. “Maybe they're secretly married. And it's a secret because Justin doesn't want to antagonize Inez. Ooops!” Renie felt her bumper nudge the car parked on her left.

“It washes with me,” mused Judith. “If they were brother and sister, the only person they'd want to keep that a secret from was Pacetti. And now that he's dead, what's the point? Unless it has to do with Inez. I guess I'm glad that Tippy's not as imbecilic as she pretended. But I sure don't like the idea of her being a serious suspect.”

“She seemed really afraid when she talked about the murderer,” Renie noted. “But we know she's a fairly good actress. Yikes!” The front of the car scraped the compact parked on their right.

“What bothers me is that if Tippy didn't kill Pacetti, why does she think she knows who did? I mean, she must know more about a motive than we do.” Judith winced as Renie made another attempt at reversing.

“Dump all this on Woody,” advised Renie. She struggled with the wheel, alternating between the gas and the
brake. The car crept backward, narrowly missing everything except for the figure that had suddenly appeared right behind them.

“Help!” A man shouted in fear as he jumped out of the way.

“Whoa!” Renie tried to hit the brake, got her feet tangled in Judith's raincoat, stepped on the gas instead, and went whizzing out into the exit lane. She managed to stop the car just before it struck the far wall of solid cement. Rolling the window down, Judith leaned out and called to the would-be victim who was clinging to a concrete pillar. “Are you okay?” she shouted.

Renie took one hand off the steering wheel and gave Judith a whack on the arm. “Never ask that,” she muttered. “You want to get me sued?”

The man stared at the Chevrolet, stiffened, and then turned to rush off toward the garage elevators. Judith blinked. Her eyes might not be in very good shape, but she didn't need twenty-twenty vision to recognize the gray eminence of Winston Plunkett.

W
OODY
P
RICE HAD
some news of his own. Justin Kerr was from the Boston area, had studied at the New England Conservatory of Music and for two more years in Paris and Rome. He had made his debut in Philadelphia seven years earlier. The past year, he had sung at various European and American houses, drawing critical acclaim for his stint in Salzburg the previous August. He was obviously on the rise. And, Woody noted, he must have had money to back him. Study at the New England Conservatory and in Europe didn't come cheap.

Inez Garcia-Green was a tougher nut to crack. She had done nothing. She knew nothing. She said nothing. Woody thought otherwise. He had gathered samples of her handwriting and would match them against the warnings sent to the B&B.

“It sounds as if you did just as well, if not better, at the Plymouth with Justin than I did at the Cascadia with Inez,” said Woody over the phone.

Judith, who was stretched out on her bed, responded in a dry voice. “Because we found Tippy? Now you'll have to find out if Justin and Tippy are married. I suppose Plunkett showed up to see Justin, though I'd like
to know why. I wonder how he reacted to finding Tippy there, too. Unless she hid in the bathroom.”

“We already checked marriage licenses, just in case. No Justin Kerr was married in Massachusetts during the last five years,” said Woody. “We've covered the whole Atlantic seaboard, and now we're working our way west. Of course they might have got married abroad,” he added on a dejected note.

“I doubt it. Tippy's only trip to Europe this year was to Salzburg in August. If they got married then, I doubt that she'd have credit cards issued in her new name so quickly.” Judith yawned. It was midnight and she was bushed. There was no point in bringing up her theory about the Pacettis' earlier visit until she had some facts to back herself up. Like most policemen, Woody didn't get enthusiastic over ideas out of left field.

“You probably don't think we're making much progress,” said Woody.

“Oh—early days, as they say,” replied Judith, arranging the pillows under her head.

“We're trying to track down the source of the Strophanthin. We know the manufacturer because of the bottle. It's from Holland.”

“A real Dutch treat.” Judith felt her eyelids droop.

“We couldn't get any prints off that thermos. You probably guessed as much.”

“Right.” Judith switched off the lamp beside the bed.

“We've finished questioning all the witnesses at the opera house. There were literally hundreds. Well, two hundred or so. Lots of conflicting statements about who was where doing what. Nothing really solid, except confirmation of what we already knew. The mezzo-soprano who sang the role of Flora thought she saw the thermos sitting on a stool after Pacetti collapsed. Maestro Dunkowitz said he sat on the very same stool later after he came up out of the orchestra pit and got through arguing with Creighton Layton. No thermos in sight.”

“Hmmmm. That's sort of interesting.” Judith forced her
eyes to stay open. “In other words, somebody walked off with it during all the confusion over Pacetti. But how do you hide a thermos?”

“Do you need to? Who would question somebody running around carrying a thermos? Who would notice, with everybody concerned about Pacetti?” Woody's voice was beginning to fade.

“Where are you, Woody?” Judith heard noises somewhere in the house. Perhaps Plunkett or Schutzendorf had finally returned.

“I'm home. Sondra's in the bathroom. She got back from the baby shower just after I got in.” It was his turn to yawn.

Judith's maternal instincts stirred. “Go to bed, Woody.”

“What? Oh, yes, I will. Good night.”

“Good night.” Fumbling a bit, Judith replaced the phone. She went to sleep with her hand still on the receiver.

 

To Judith's astonishment, Dr. George Inouye had a cancellation for Thursday morning at ten-thirty. Judith jumped at the chance to see the eye doctor so soon. For the rest of Wednesday, she tried to pretend it was just routine at the B&B. Phyliss arrived at nine, complaining of excessive earwax, aching hip joints, and an unsatisfactory session with the dentist.

“Four shots of novocaine, and he drilled halfway to my hat,” she groused, spraying polish on the breakfront in the dining room. “It's a crown, so I have to get along with a temporary for two weeks. It'll fall out, you can be sure of that.”

Skjoval Tolvang had come to work even earlier, and his progress on the toolshed was remarkable. Judith knew she should have been pleased, but if he finished up by the weekend as promised, she would have to face Joe with a
fait accompli
as soon as he got off the plane. The prospect didn't cheer her. Would Joe blow? It was hard to tell.

As for her guests, all of them vacated the house for
most of the day. Bruno Schutzendorf was the first to leave, humming Franz Lehár and twirling his walking stick. Amina Pacetti announced that she must get outside and breathe real air or go quite mad. Winston Plunkett had hired a car and the two of them intended to drive off into the autumn sunshine. Before they could get away, Judith cornered Plunkett in the entry hall.

“You must be aware that Tippy has been found,” she said, keeping her voice low in case Amina should appear from upstairs.

If Plunkett had recognized Judith in Renie's car the previous night, he gave no sign. “Really!” His manner proclaimed mild surprise, but Judith thought that a flicker of emotion sparked in his gray eyes. “We owe her money for her wages. I hope she contacts us.”

Judith wanted to press Plunkett further, but Amina was descending into the entry hall. For the time being, Judith kept her own counsel.

Phyliss Rackley, however, did not. “This is the worst bunch of guests you've ever had,” she announced, emerging from Amina's room carrying an overflowing wastebasket. “This one leaves cotton balls and tissues all over the place. Magazines, clothes, jewelry tossed this way and that. That bookkeeper fellow or whatever he is writes himself little notes and they fall on the floor, the bed, even the sink! What's he got, amnesia? And that German!” Phyliss sidled closer to Judith and lowered her voice. “Did you know he's drinking
wine
in his room? Three bottles I've thrown out! And dirty glasses all over the place. Drink is the Devil's own work. How do these people expect to get to heaven if they aren't sober and neat? Nurse Fiske is the only one who tidies up after herself. A fine woman, that.” Phyliss huffed and puffed as she started toward the stairs. “Oh!” she added, turning to glance at Judith over her shoulder. “Some of the flowers have died. Shall I throw them out?”

“I'll do that,” Judith replied. “Which ones?”

Phyliss started down the stairs. “That big ugly bouquet
in Mrs. P.'s room and the ones you put on the German's dresser. Waste of effort with him, if you ask me. He's probably too intoxicated to notice…” Her voice trailed off as she disappeared from view.

Judith went into Schutzendorf's room first. Sure enough, the dahlias and the asters were definitely drooping. She picked up the Wedgwood vase, then realized she could refill it with the flowers from Tippy's vacated room. First, however, she decided to take a quick look around Schutzendorf's quarters. Nothing struck her as particularly unusual. The small closet contained his evening clothes and top hat, a half dozen shirts, a plaid bathrobe, two vests, three jackets, four pairs of pants, dress shoes, sturdy boots, and walking shoes. Everything, it seemed, except the outfit he had been wearing, which consisted of his basic Tyrolean cape, pants, jacket, shirt, and snap-brimmed cap. His large suitcase was empty; the smaller one contained three bottles of Sekt. His briefcase was locked.

Judith decided to take a peek at Plunkett's room, too. His closet also revealed no surprises, though the uniformity of the business manager's wardrobe brought a faint smile to Judith's lips. So did the small, open wooden chest filled with fishing flies. Red, orange, black, and yellow lures reposed in separate compartments. Judith was reminded of Uncle Cliff, whose collection of fresh-and salt-water tackle had been formidable. The notes Phyliss had mentioned also intrigued her. Apparently the cleaning woman had picked them all up and tucked them inside the blotter on the dressing table. Leafing through them, Judith saw that they were mainly names, addresses, and phone numbers. Except for their universal scope, there was nothing of much interest. Even his random doodles were dull, a series of loops and an occasional rectangle. The one small slip of paper that made Judith pause showed a triangle. At each corner, Plunkett had written a name—Tippy, Inez, Justin. His own initials appeared in the middle. A love triangle? But where did Plunkett fit in with this trio? A conspiracy? To promote Justin Kerr's career? That
seemed more likely. But there was always another, uglier possibility…

Judith fetched the flowers from Tippy's former room. They were on the wane, but would last another day or so. She threw out Schutzendorf's wilted bouquet, realized that there was no water in the Wedgwood vase, and went into the bathroom to fill it. She emptied what was left of the water from the Lalique vase that had been in Tippy's room, then quickly arranged the blooms for Schutzendorf. He'd probably never notice the change, but Judith hated wilted bouquets.

On a whim, she opened the medicine chest. The two men had divvied up the space. Plunkett apparently had taken the two bottom shelves, since they contained shaving equipment that the bearded Schutzendorf wouldn't need. There were also a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouth-wash, aspirin, vitamins, dental floss, and an over-the-counter sleep aid. Schutzendorf duplicated several of the items, but had more medications: antacid, nasal spray, antihistamine, and a prescription for something called isosorbide dinitrate. Judith examined the last bottle closely. It had been prescribed for Bruno Schutzendorf Sunday and had come from Bayview Hospital Pharmacy. The directions were for “one tablet every three to five minutes at the onset of irregular heartbeat.” The medication must have been prescribed for Schutzendorf after his overnight stay at the hospital.

Amina's bedroom was next, where Judith again made a quick perusal. Phyliss had done her usual crackerjack job of cleaning, and all seemed in order. The closet was crammed, the dresser was crowded, the bureau drawers were stuffed. A thorough search would take too long. Judith still had a heavy schedule of errands to run. She grabbed the crystal vase with the faded exotic flowers and took it down to the kitchen. The bouquet went into the garbage can under the sink; so did something else. Judith heard a soft thud. She extracted the plastic container in which Justin Kerr had brought the bouquet. She dug
among the wilted ginger, heliconia, and bird of paradise. She felt a hard object, caught among the long stems. Judith clasped it in her fingers.

She had no idea what a vial of Strophanthin would look like, but somehow she had the feeling she was holding one in her hand. It was empty; it had no label. Judith went straight to the phone and called Woody. Predictably, he wasn't in. Judith sat on the kitchen stool for a long time, trying to figure out what the discovery meant. Something else was bothering her, too, something she had seen upstairs. Or not seen? She couldn't put her finger on whatever seemed to be wrong. Maybe she should have made a more thorough search of Amina's belongings. But she had no idea how long the bereaved widow and the business manager would be gone. Judith decided she'd better tend to business.

Putting the small bottle into a plastic bag, she zipped it into the inner pocket of her big handbag, then headed out on her errands. The list was long; time was short. Judith toured hardware and appliance stores, seeking fixtures for Gertrude's new lodgings. Despite her best bargain-hunting skills, she returned out of sorts and out of pocket. Another grand had gone down the drain, or at least into a new one, along with a toilet, sink, shower stall, small refrigerator, and toaster oven. The rest of the furnishings could come out of the house or the collection that Gertrude had moved into Aunt Deb's apartment.

Judith was holding her head in one hand and a stiff scotch in the other when Renie called around four. She had drawn a blank with the P.R. person at the Henderson Cancer Center.

“Ernestine wasn't being discreet,” reported Renie. “She just flat out said that Pacetti had never been there. I've come to know her fairly well during the course of this project. If he had been treated and she didn't want to disclose the fact, then she'd have been coy.”

“Another theory shot to hell,” sighed Judith. “What's your reaction to the bottle in the bouquet?”

“
Two
Strophanthin bottles in the props?” Renie sounded a trifle incredulous. “On the other hand, why not? Why one in the first place? Why not forty-eight of the damned things? The question is, was it there when Inez and Justin brought the flowers to Amina? Did somebody else put in there after the arrangement arrived at the house? And, if tea is an antidote, and there wasn't enough Strophanthin missing from the original vial, would this second full shot have done the job? Now how's that for an answer to your question?”

“Whew,” Judith replied, “I guess I won't ask you anything else. My brain feels like Mother's overcooked oatmeal mush. I'd about to give up on this one. I'd better go do something really fun, like clean out the fridge.”

Some of the items her guests had purchased the previous week were going bad. Judith threw out romaine lettuce, radicchio, tomatoes, and half a cucumber. Renie's earlier remark about turning into their mothers had spurred her on. Judith was determined not to hoard items that might be mistaken for museum relics or laboratory specimens. On her way to the garbage can, she saw Corinne Dooley on the other side of the picket fence, raking leaves.

“Hey,” shouted Judith, “you want your lily-of-the-valley pips?”