Bed & Breakfast 12 - Wed and Buried by Mary Daheim

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

“So let Joe figure it out,” Renie said, sounding exasperated.

“I’m working, coz. I have a deadline, remember?”

“I thought you might ride with me to the Belmont so we could take another look,” Judith said in her meekest voice.

“No!” Renie exploded. “Absolutely not. I’ve had enough of the Belmont. I thought you did, too. What good did it do to go there this afternoon?”

“That was before Esperanza showed up at the B&B,” Judith said, turning mulish. “She thought TNT had gone there. Why?”

“Because it’s a free flop,” Renie responded. “Now hang up and let me finish this wretched project.”

Judith had no choice. When she returned with the ice cream, Gertrude still couldn’t remember anything about a bean pole. Judith gave up on her mother, too. Feeling futile, she crept upstairs to the third floor and joined Joe in watching the ball game. If he’d noticed that his wife had been gone for awhile, he didn’t mention it. Judith was beginning to feel like a cipher.

And then she thought of O.P. Dooley, and her spirits rose. Oliver Plunkett Dooley was a younger brother of Judith’s former paper boy and erstwhile sleuth-in-training. The large, extended family not only lived in back of Hillside Manor, but just under the brick and granite eminence of Belgravia Gardens. When Dooley, as Aloysius Gonzaga was more familiarly known, had gone away to college, he had bequeathed his telescope to his brother. On a previous occasion, O. P.’s aptitude for spying on the

156 / Mary Daheim

neighbors had proved beneficial in tracking down a murderer. Judith decided it was time to put O. P. back to work. Calling on the Dooley ménage required walking to the entrance of the cul-de-sac, going around the west side of the block, and ending up at the far corner. As ever, the Dooleys’

front yard was strewn with trikes, bikes, and all manner of playthings. Corinne Dooley, an amazingly placid woman who never seemed disturbed or dismayed by domestic crises, was swaying gently in a lawn swing on the front porch.

“Judith,” she said with genuine pleasure. “How are you? I didn’t get a chance to really talk to you at Mike’s wedding reception. It was lovely.”

“Thanks,” Judith replied as two small children zipped out through the front door and chased each other around the yard. “Is O. P. home?”

“I think so,” Corinne replied, paying no heed to the little boy and little girl who were now rolling around in an uncovered sandbox that had been turned to mud. “Try the downstairs den. Or his room.” O. P.’s mother evinced no curiosity over Judith’s reason for calling on the boy. No doubt, Judith thought as she made her way through the cluttered house, Corinne’s children and grandchildren had been called upon by many people throughout the years. If it was trouble, Corinne would hear about it later. If it wasn’t, then it didn’t matter. Either way, the Dooley matriarch took whatever came in stride. Her equanimity amazed Judith. There were several children in the downstairs den, but none of them was O.

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