Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [4]
Judith didn’t mention that she thought both magazines had long ceased publication. “Today’s magazines are all about celebrities I’ve never heard of,” she remarked.
“Then how come they’re celebrities and I’m not?” Gertrude demanded. “Nobody’s ever heard of me, either.” She tapped the corner of The Inquisitor, one of her favorite tabloids. “You mean I’d have to pose in my girdle like these women who run around in their underwear?”
“Well…” Judith paused, listening to what was going on in the dining room. Joe was chatting with the couple from Los Angeles who had lingered over breakfast. They’d been on several African safaris and were bragging about their trophies. Judith wished Joe would suggest taking their coffee into the living room so she could clear the table.
“Let’s go out to your apartment,” Judith said, “so I can help you look through those parcels.”
“You can toss ’em in the Dumpster for all I care,” Gertrude responded.
“Maybe I will,” Judith fibbed. But first she’d like to see what was inside the overnight envelopes.
“You could make my lunch,” Gertrude said. “It’s going on noon.”
“So I could.” It’d save Judith a trip to the toolshed.
She had started making a BLT for her mother when Joe finally managed to lure the L.A. couple out of the dining room. While the bacon was frying, Judith began clearing the solid oak table that had belonged to her grandparents.
“Blowhards,” Joe murmured, standing in the doorway to the entry hall. “Do I care how they stuffed their dik-diks?”
“Probably not,” Judith whispered. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“Doing my homework on that arson trial,” he replied. “It looks as if I’ll have to testify.”
“That’s a pain,” Judith said. “When does it start?”
Joe was moving into the entry hall, headed for the front stairs. Apparently, he was avoiding his mother-in-law by not taking his usual backstairs route. “Monday, the twenty-fourth. I don’t have much time to prepare. I’ve got that high-profile divorce surveillance gig this week.”
“Good luck,” Judith said as Joe started up the carpeted steps. Sometimes it seemed that her husband was busier as a private detective than he had been while he was on the police force. But usually he enjoyed his work, and it paid well. Considering the current dearth of B&B reservations, the Flynns could use the money.
“Bacon’s burning,” Gertrude announced as Judith returned to the kitchen.
“Oh, dear!” Judith pulled the frying pan off the burner.
“I like it that way,” her mother asserted. “You know that. And I like my toast burned, too. It makes my hair curly.”
“A permanent makes your hair curly,” Judith said, turning on the exhaust fan to clear the smoke. “You used to tell me those old wives’ tales when I was a kid.”
“So?” Gertrude shrugged. “Plenty of mayo, remember?”
“And butter,” Judith added. Her mother’s cholesterol was off the charts, but it didn’t seem to affect the old girl’s health.
Five minutes later, they were in the toolshed. Sweetums had joined them, curling up on Gertrude’s small couch. Judith settled her mother into the armchair and put her meal on the cluttered card table.
Four express packages were in a pile behind the chair. The contents of the latest, however, were spread out on the card table. Gertrude set her BLT on top of the revised script and adjusted her dentures.
Cautiously, Judith bent down to collect the unopened parcels. “I’ll leave the one you’re reading here and take the rest,” she said, noting that they were all about the same size and felt like the previous scripts she’d seen. “Here’s your magnifying glass. It was under the packages.”
“Oh. Then you can have yours back.” Gertrude picked up half of the sandwich, ignoring the mayo, butter, grease, and tomato stains she’d left on the script. Sweetums jumped off the couch, yawned, and leaped onto the card table,