Loco Motive: A Bed-and-Breakfast Mystery - By Mary Daheim Page 0,4
it as anything from a packing crate to a pay-as-you’re-going coffin.
“I’m cross as two sticks,” Gertrude shouted, zipping by the small patio, the birdbath, and the statue of Saint Francis. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Christmas? I haven’t addressed a single card!”
“Christmas?” Judith met her mother on the sidewalk by the porch. “What are you talking about? It’s not Halloween yet.”
“Mad as a hatter,” Phyliss remarked from her righteous position on the porch. “That’s what happens when you play with a necklace that’s got a cross with our Lord on the end of it. More sacrilege.”
Judith shot the cleaning woman a warning glance. “It’s October, Mother,” she said to Gertrude. “Why do you think it’s Christmas?”
“Why else would somebody…”
Gertrude’s words were drowned out by raised voices that came from around the corner of the house. One belonged to Joe, whose usually mellow tone had turned harsh. Ignoring Gertrude and Phyliss, who had begun yet another stare-off of mutual contempt, Judith hurried to the driveway.
Joe and Wayne were craning their necks to look up at the roof. “Get down, you crazy moron!” Joe yelled. “If you jump, I’ll call the cops!”
Dressed in red sweats, Wee Willie Weevil was standing by one of the roof’s two chimneys. The wind was blowing hard enough that the fabric flapped against his sinewy physique. Somehow his dark hair stayed in place. “Beat it, buster,” he shouted back. “I’m exercising.”
Wayne was fiddling with his camera. “Move to your right,” he called loudly. “The light’s not so good from this angle.”
Joe grabbed Wayne’s arm. “Put that thing away or I’ll break it. This is a B&B, not an amusement park. Do you want to run us out of business with Weevil’s loony risk-taking stunts?”
Wayne was unruffled. “He knows what he’s doing.”
Joe noticed Judith a few feet away. “Did he sign a special waiver?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward the roof.
“You mean Willie?” Judith glanced up at the daredevil, who was coming around to the north side of the chimney. “I don’t think so. He registered like any guest, agreeing to the standard B&B rules.”
“So he’s screwed if he kills himself. I should never have said I bet he couldn’t jump out the second-story window. I thought he was joking.”
Wayne had moved out of sight. Judith heard her mother ask if he was one of Santa’s elves. Phyliss accused him of consorting with the devil. “I know Satan when I see him,” she declared. “Red suit and all.”
“That’s Santa Claus, dummy,” Gertrude said to Phyliss. “What happened to his elves and the reindeer?”
“Pagan practices,” Phyliss snapped. “Worship of unnatural creatures and animals. Satan, Santa—just switch the letters around. And it’s not Christmas, though why you heathens care about it, I don’t…ahh!” She jumped as Sweetums brushed up against her leg. “Beelzebub’s familiar! Help!”
Judith tried to block out the familiar rant. She followed Joe to the rear of the house where Wee Willie seemed poised to make his jump.
“Much better,” Wayne called, trying to brush his windswept hair off of his forehead.
“Any time. I’m starting to shoot.”
His subject didn’t hesitate. Wee Willie took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and made a running leap to the roof’s edge. Joe shouted; Judith screamed. Willie went airborne just as a gust of wind blew him off course. He missed the lily-of-the-valley bush he’d apparently aimed for and crashed into a thorny pyracantha. His howls of pain and agonized writhing horrified Judith. Wayne was frozen in place. Joe yanked out his cell to call 911 before approaching the stricken man. Phyliss lifted her hands skyward, appealing to heaven. Gertrude moved her wheelchair closer to the carnage. “Serves him right,” she muttered. “He’d better not have ruined that bush. Grandpa Grover planted it during the Depression. It cheered him up—until he had his nervous breakdown.”
Judith barely heard her mother. The wind whipped her shoulder-length hair into her eyes, cut through her merino sweater, and made her teeth chatter. Wayne was trying to extricate Willie from the shrubbery. Joe grabbed Wayne by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away. “You’ll do more harm than good,” he warned. “Wait for the medics.”
Sweetums was creeping under the lily-of-the-valley bush, apparently to enjoy a close-up view of human suffering.
“My leg!” Willie cried. “I think it’s broke!”
“Help’s on the way.” Joe sounded as if he was talking through gritted teeth. “The EMTs know how to get here.” His ironic side-long glance at Judith added fuel to her aggravation.