Bantam of the Opera by Mary Daheim

Author:Mary Daheim [Daheim, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mary Daheim, Cozy Mystery
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2010-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

“PHILISTINES,” MUTTERED RENIE, whose only consolation for being up so early was the sight of a menu. Cheers To You was a no-nonsense eatery near the university campus with ample portions of hearty American food. The cousins had been fans of the cafe since their college days. “This is a conspiracy, just to ruin my day. Do you two twits know it was still dark when I got up this morning?”

Judith glanced at Melissa Bargroom. The music critic was fortyish, with a cascade of auburn hair and a lively expression. She was almost as tall as Judith, but the dancing eyes and the pretty face lent her a pixielike quality. Melissa tried to keep a straight face. “You know, Serena—yoo-hoo, Earth to Serena, Earth to Serena!” She pulled the menu away from Renie’s eyes which had begun to glaze over. “Really, my dear, there are often literally hundreds, nay, thousands of people in this city fully conscious and at work by 9:00 A.M. Honest.”

“They’re certifiable, every one of them,” asserted Renie, trying to refocus. “What’s the point?”

Judith knew that arguing with Renie, especially before ten o’clock in the morning, was a lost cause. The three women gave their orders to the waitress, who had already brought them coffee. Renie dumped lots of sugar into her cup but both Judith and Melissa took theirs black.

“You go first,” said Melissa to Judith.

As concisely as possible Judith gave a rundown of the previous evening for both Melissa and Renie. “There’s nothing new so far this morning,” Judith concluded. “Mrs. Pacetti was able to take tea and toast; Schutzendorf bitched all the time he was polishing off the bratwurst; and Plunkett acts like he lost his anchor. Which I suppose he has. Tippy was sleeping in. I figure she can fend for herself or ask my cleaning woman to fix her something.”

Melissa switched off the tape recorder she had brought along. “According to my police beat comrade at the Times, we can’t say for sure that Pacetti was poisoned with Strophanthin. We have to hedge and call it a ‘digitalis-like poison.’ But we can say that the empty vial was found on the buffet table. This is all new to me—I gather that homicide stories require a lot of dancing around, lest we impede the investigation, or worse yet, influence the jury if and when the case comes to trial.”

“So dig us some dirt,” urged Renie, who had come to life at the sight of a crab and cheddar omelette accompanied by toast and hash brown potatoes.

Melissa tilted her head to one side. “I feel like a fraud. I don’t know much about this cast of characters, really. That is, not much of recent note. One thing, though—” she paused to lift her eyebrows in a significant manner—“Pacetti and Garcia-Green had a torrid affair that lasted at least a couple of years. It was going on the last time Pacetti sang here, which is how I know about it.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Judith.

“Oho!” breathed Renie.

“Then they had a falling-out,” Melissa went on, “at La Scala in Milan.

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