Major Vices (26 page)

Judith rolled over in bed. Joe was undressing without turning on the light. “Everything all right?” she asked.

“Oh, sure,” he grumbled. “Terrific.”

Judith fumbled for the switch on the lamp next to the bed. Joe was wearing an uncharacteristically glum face. “What's wrong?” she asked, forcing her eyes into focus.

“Nothing. You're a star. Go back to sleep.”

“Joe…”

“You didn't have to tell the Mayor his cousin was wearing lily pads on his head,” Joe said in his disgruntled voice. “You didn't have to watch Buck Doerflinger try to talk his way out of making a wrongful arrest and still take credit for bringing in the real murderer. On Monday, you'll probably see me directing traffic around the city's latest street improvement. Which,” he went on, his tone growing more forsaken, “will be the route where Buck's parade will pass when they make him Public Safety Officer of the Year.”

“Oh, Joe!” Judith held her arms out to her husband. “Buck's a bungler! He can't take credit for solving this case!”

Ignoring Judith's embrace, Joe sat down on the bed. “He's pretending it was a trick to get the wife to confess to save the husband. Buck says he didn't have any evidence against her, so he was using psychology.”

“But there's tons of evidence,” Judith protested. “The
loden coat, the timing of the real shot, our own knowledge of what Mrs. Wakefield said she did, especially to the Mayor's cousin!”

“Hearsay,” Joe declared. “In a court of law, it won't mean a thing.”

“And Trixie,” Judith went on, undaunted by Joe's attitude. “She saw Mrs. Wakefield trying to kill us!”

“Trixie!” Joe snorted. “What kind of a witness will she make?”

Judith had to concede that point to Joe. “But the guns—what was the one she tried to use on us?”

“A Luger.” Joe finally swung into bed.

“Exactly,” Judith said, her excitement mounting. “A Luger and a Walther. German guns, from World War Two. I'll bet they belonged to Rube Major, souvenirs he brought back from his OSS assignment behind the lines. Who would he have given them to but his daughter, Ruth? Then there are those bricks and the hole in the den wall—what about trace evidence? Fibers from Mrs. Wakefield's long-sleeved uniform; hairs, maybe. There was dust on her uniform, too, probably from the masonry work outside. I'm certain the casing and the silencer are inside the wall. Her fingerprints may be on the silencer.”

Almost against his will, Joe began to brighten. “There's a lot about this case I don't know. Buck sure doesn't, either. Care to enlighten me?” He reached out to touch Judith lightly on the cheek.

“I haven't had time to tell you everything.” She grabbed his hand and pressed it against her face. “All Buck had was one dumb box.”

Joe chuckled. “You're going to have to give me all the details. Buck may end up with a mere burglary bust.”

Now Judith laughed, too. “Oh, no, he won't. The jewels are right where they belong—in Uncle Boo's safe.”

Joe wrapped his free arm around Judith. “What are you talking about?”

“Trixie. Why do you think she came back to Major Manor? She found out what Mason was up to—I'd bet on it. And decided to return the jewels before her latest fiancé got arrested.”

“Hunh.” Joe stared up at the darkened ceiling. “So Trixie has a conscience after all.”

“No, not in the least,” Judith replied with certainty. “She just doesn't want to team up with a thief. As ever, Trixie is self-serving. She probably still thinks she can break the wills.”

“But she can't.” Joe, however, sounded dubious.

“That's right, she can't. Jill should get everything because she's Boo's widow. When she left to use the phone this afternoon, I figure she also called an attorney. Jill's young, but she's not foolish. She loves the house, though I doubt she'll keep it.”

“Jill can make another bundle if she sells Major Manor,” Joe commented, trying to warm his feet on Judith's. “And the jewels. Or will she give them to her grandmother?”

“I don't know.” Judith tried to picture Vivvie Rush with a tiara perched atop her wig. “Jill never cared about the jewelry—it's too stodgy and dated for her tastes. I realize now that the theft upset her at the time, but the loss must have seemed like a drop in the bucket.”

“I wouldn't mind meeting Jill,” Joe said on a yawn. “Maybe she'd like to invest in the Police Pension Fund.”

Enduring Joe's cold feet, Judith chuckled. “Maybe. I think she might give a chunk to Zoe. For all her protests, Zoe would like a second chance at life. Jill's got tons of money and she's not greedy. In the same position, Trixie would never have been so generous.”

“Well.” Joe sounded bemused. “According to the statements Buck took initially, he never pressed Jill for her I.D. Knowing him, he probably blustered around and told her who she was, instead of asking.”

Judith nodded. “Legally, she was Boo's niece—great-niece. We all knew that. She'd been adopted so long ago by Derek that nobody ever thought about her not having blood ties to the Lotts and the Majors. She was definitely one of the family. When the will leaving everything to Derek showed up, Jill crowed, which infuriated Toadie and Trixie. Afterward, I wondered about Jill's reaction. All along, she knew she was inheriting the estate. But having
put up with lots of Lotts for almost all her life, she was elated to put one over on them. I think she was also afraid that if she let them—or anyone else—know she was Mrs. Bruno Major, the killer might claim another victim.”

“Which gave her another reason to take off on a one-way taxi trip out of Major Manor.” Joe leaned over, withdrew his feet, and kissed Judith's ear. “Still mad at me?”

Judith considered. “Yes. And you?”

“Definitely.”

“How mad?”

“Indescribably.”

“Funny, you don't act mad.”

“Neither do you.”

Judith and Joe could have fooled anybody. Except each other.

Seattle native
MARY DAHEIM
began telling stories with pictures when she was four. Since she could neither read nor write, and her artistic talent was questionable, her narratives were sometimes hard to follow. By second grade, she had learned how to string together both subjects and predicates, and hasn't stopped writing since. A former newspaper reporter and public relations consultant, Daheim's first of seven historical romances was published in 1983. In addition to Avon Books' Bed-and-Breakfast series featuring Judith McMonigle Flynn, Daheim also pens the Alpine mysteries for Ballantine. She is married to David Daheim, a retired college instructor, and has three daughters—Barbara, Katherine and Magdalen.

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