Loco Motive: A Bed-and-Breakfast Mystery - By Mary Daheim Page 0,5
Wayne said. “See—he’s all scratched up and bloody.”
“Ugh,” Phyliss said. “He looks like he’s already in hell. I’m going to put the laundry away. It’s cold out here.”
“For once,” Gertrude muttered, “I agree with that crazy religious battle-ax.” The old lady revved up her wheelchair and zoomed off to the toolshed. She didn’t bother to turn back when a garbage can lid blew down the driveway, clattering loudly before bumping into a tire on Judith’s Nissan. Leaves from the cherry tree sailed to earth along with twigs, dead camellia blooms, and small branches from the tall cedar behind the Dooleys’ fence. As a leitmotif for the winds of October, Willie continued moaning and groaning.
Judith couldn’t endure watching the excruciating drama. Without another word, she followed Phyliss inside and slammed the door.
“Didn’t I tell you that man in the red suit was Satan?” the cleaning woman demanded as she picked up the hamper. “He got what he deserved. A fallen angel, that’s the devil.” She turned on the fat heels of her corrective shoes and started up the back stairs.
Judith headed for the Excedrin on the kitchen windowsill. Soon the cozy cul-de-sac would resound with a cacophony of sirens and a glare of flashing lights. The scenario was all too familiar. A couple of months earlier, another guest had been injured by falling into the pyracantha. The bush seemed cursed. Or she was. Maybe a break from the B&B was overdue. She swallowed two tablets as the doorbell sounded. The old school clock showed it was just past four, time for guests to check in. She hurried to greet the new arrivals.
The two young women who stood on the porch didn’t fit Judith’s information about the expected guests. They certainly weren’t the older couple from Tennessee who were celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary or the two middle-aged couples from Alaska or the father-son combo from Montreal.
“I’m afraid I’m booked tonight,” Judith apologized, “but I can find you alternate lodgings at another B&B.”
The newcomers giggled. “We’re here about the rental in the cul-de-sac,” the blond girl said, exposing deep dimples. “Is it you or your daughter who’s showing it?”
Judith frowned. “Oh? Oh! You mean Mrs. Rankers. Her daughter is in real estate.” She pointed at the hedge. “Try next door.”
The blonde pulled up the hood of her green raincoat. “We’ll do that.”
The taller, dark-haired young woman used one hand to clutch her billowing red jacket closed and held the storm door with the other hand to keep it from blowing shut. “Thanks,” she said. “Where’s the owner?”
“She moved.” Judith couldn’t bear to revisit the disaster that had forced Joe’s ex-wife to leave town the previous August.
“Thanks again,” the taller girl said as they started down the steps.
Judith grabbed the storm door to keep it from banging. “Good luck,” she called, using her free arm to prop up the sheaf of corn-stalks that had blown over. Luckily, the jack-o’-lanterns, the autumn leaf wreath, and the colorful gourds remained in place. She turned to go inside when she heard sirens whining nearby. Luckily, the young women had disappeared behind the laurel hedge. A moment later the medic van turned into the cul-de-sac. Judith hurriedly shut the door.
She wasn’t in the mood to face the medics and the firefighters and the ambulance drivers and whichever other emergency personnel might arrive at Hillside Manor. She went into the front parlor and peeked through the tall, narrow window overlooking the driveway. Joe was motioning for the medics to come ahead. Maybe, Judith hoped, the rest of the usual crisis crew wouldn’t show up. Joe could handle the situation. He knew the ins and outs of city departments, how to deal with disaster, cope with all sorts of…
Her shoulders sagged. I really am worn out. Maybe I haven’t recovered from dealing with Vivian and the dead body in her backyard. Maybe sitting in a private compartment and watching the world go by would do me good. She closed her eyes and tried to relax. To her relief, there were no more sirens. Guests wouldn’t have to trip over firefighters and ambulance attendants.
“There you are!” Pepper shrieked, coming into the parlor from the living room. “We’ll sue! WeeWee’s a mess! His leg and arm are broken! We won’t pay you a dime. We’re checking out and we never want to see you except in court!” She flounced out of the parlor.
“Good riddance,” Judith muttered, collapsing onto the window seat. She didn’t care if Willie canceled his payment, left the