Bed & Breakfast 3 - Holy Terrors 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

Dooley wore a serious expression under his wayward hair.

“No, I’m doing it on my own.”

The trio paused as a UPS truck lumbered past. Across the street, Mrs. Dowzak, stocky and stern, emerged through her front door. She began to rail at Dooley for his chronic missed deliveries.

“Cow,” muttered Dooley, but gave his nemesis an innocent smile. “Hey, Mrs. D, I’ve only missed three times since February. And you haven’t paid me since New Year’s!”

Mrs. Dowzak glared, then tramped back into the house, banging the door. The UPS truck had turned around at the corner and was pulling up behind Judith’s car, apparently headed for John Frizzell’s bungalow. Dooley grinned at the cousins and released the brake. “You meet some really weird people in this business. Like, I think Mrs. Dowzak is nuts. That reminds me,” he said, leaning on the handle- 130 / Mary Daheim bars, “a couple of times when I was delivering papers I’d forgotten over on Quince Street by those old duplexes, I’ve seen Mrs. Kramer’s car parked there. Do you suppose she’s meeting some guy? A blackmailer, maybe.”

Judith blinked at Dooley. She knew the location he was referring to: During World War II, a dozen frame duplexes had been thrown up to house defense workers at the nearby naval station. As a small child, she had found them quaint and cozy. But forty years later, the ravages of time and careless tenants had eroded their charm, along with the woodwork. “I doubt it’s a blackmailer,” she murmured. A lover, however, didn’t sound as unlikely. It was hard for Judith to picture the fastidious Eve Kramer carrying on an affair with any of the Quince Street crew. The small enclave, just on the edge of downtown, was made up primarily of the elderly, single parents, and other low-income renters. Judith was puzzled.

Dooley’s mind was still going a mile a minute. “Drug dealers? An escaped convict, hiding out? Antiques smugglers?” His tufts of fair hair stood up like question marks.

“Hold it,” said Judith. Dooley’s imagination was making her head spin. “I haven’t any idea,” she admitted, baffled by Eve Kramer’s visits to such a down-at-the-heels area. Dooley, no doubt conjuring up fresh images of evildoers, pedaled off down Crabtree Street. Judith and Renie waved goodbye.

“Moonbeam’s?” said Renie as they hit the sidewalk.

“What?” Judith was brought out of her reverie by Renie’s suggestion. “Oh, sure, why not? It’s not even nine-thirty yet. Are you working today?”

“Later. If I feel creative.” Catching Judith’s mood, Renie was suddenly subdued.

Moonbeam’s, complete with its neon crescent over the door, stood at one corner of Heraldsgate Hill’s busiest intersection. Indeed, it had become so busy in recent years that a traffic light had finally been installed, causing much confusion and more accidents than it sought to prevent. Accustomed to the four-way stop signs that had cautioned HOLY TERRORS / 131

local residents for two generations, the Hill dwellers either braked on red and then kept going despite oncoming traffic from the other direction, or stopped on green and risked getting rear-ended.

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