At half past the noon hour, the entire population of Banff and its visitors seemed to be lunching in the commercial area. The cousins ended up back at Wild Flour, where they could order carryout items. Clutching a frittata and coffee, Judith motioned to an empty bench in the Bison Courtyard. Loaded down with two croissants and an omelet, Renie staggered over to join her.
“Wha dwee do affa we ea?” she asked with her mouth full.
“We check in with the Stokeses,” Judith replied. “I intend to cull Ada from the herd.”
Renie swallowed whatever she’d been eating. “Ada? I thought she didn’t talk.”
“Maybe she doesn’t,” Judith said, “but I want to find out if she can.”
Renie sighed. “I gather she’s challenged, as they say. Then again, who isn’t?”
“True,” Judith conceded. “But being slow of wit doesn’t mean she can’t observe. I’m also wondering where the twins have gone. Or if they’ve finally come back.”
“If I were them, I wouldn’t.” Renie frowned. “We’re only going to be here for one more full day. You’d better hurry up and solve this case. We need time to shop.”
“I admit I wouldn’t mind checking out their woolens,” Judith said between bites of the frittata. “Remember how we used to go up to Canada to buy school clothes? Their cashmere sweaters and other woolens were better quality than we had back then. The exchange rate favored us, too. The clan tartans made up into really good-looking pleated skirts that went with . . .” She stopped. “Here comes Sergeant Brewster. Is he looking for us?”
Apparently, he was, as the cousins saw him stride purposefully toward their bench. He smiled faintly and doffed his regulation hat. “I was driving by in my cruiser when I saw you go into Wild Flour. I thought I might find you here. When you’ve finished your meal, would you mind coming to the station? I have some questions for you.”
“Of course,” Judith said. “In fact, we have some questions for you.”
He nodded once. “My cruiser’s just up a few doors. I’ll come by and drive you to the station. Five minutes, eh?”
“That’s fine,” Judith replied. “We’ll be done by then.”
Brewster nodded again and left the courtyard. Renie polished off the last of her food and glared at her cousin. “He thinks I’m a mute, right?”
“Of course not,” Judith retorted. “You spoke to him earlier. I think.”
“Maybe I should question Ada,” Renie snapped. “When it comes to talking or not talking, she and I seem to have a lot in common.”
“Coz . . .” Judith’s tone had turned plaintive. “I don’t mean to take over. Really.”
“You’re much taller than I am,” Renie said solemnly. “Tall people always get more attention. It’s a rule of nature.” To Judith’s relief, she laughed. “I’m used to it. My three kids are taller than I am.”
“But they respect you,” Judith declared.
“I guess.” Renie shrugged. “It’s more important that they love me. They can respect Bill and I’m good with that. Let’s stand on the curb like a couple of aging hookers. I won’t ask you to wiggle your hips, but twirl your purse and show a bit of leg.”
“Not funny,” Judith muttered. “We have to unload on Brewster and he’s not going to like it.”
“‘We’? You mean I get to talk?”
“You never volunteer. Here he comes.”
Except for the sergeant’s asking the cousins if they were comfortable, the short drive to the precinct station was made in silence. So was the brief walk to the interview room. Brewster finally asked if they’d care for coffee or tea. They declined.
After they were all seated, Brewster spoke. “Given your reputation, Ms. Flynn, I want to confer with you about any information you may have gleaned since we last spoke. But first I wanted to let you know the crime-scene people from Calgary should arrive later today.”
“Do you need us to talk to them?” Judith asked. “We probably wouldn’t be of much help since you already know what we saw at the campsite.”
“My report should be sufficient,” Brewster agreed. “Have you spoken with any of the Stokes family here since this morning?”
“Only Adela Odell,” Judith responded.
Brewster waited, but Judith didn’t elaborate. “And?” he finally prompted.
“Their twins may’ve taken the family car on a joyride,” Judith said with reluctance. “Naturally, Adela was upset.”
Brewster’s face was impassive. “Well she might be, eh?” he said quietly. “The Buick was found abandoned earlier this morning. It was on a road off the Trans-Canada Highway near the border crossing. Their parents have no idea where the twins have gone. Customs and Immigration officers at the crossing haven’t seen them. The Buick showed no signs of damage.”
“Then Win and Winnie are probably unharmed,” Judith murmured. She switched subjects. “Have you released the victim’s name to the public?”
“Our local paper, the Outlook is a weekly,” Brewster replied. “It won’t publish again until this coming Thursday, so there’s no rush to make an announcement. Why do you ask?”
“The discrepancy about where the family was headed in the first place,” Judith replied, and related Doris Draper’s remark about the family going to California. “So how and why did they end up here?”
Brewster stroked his chin. “That’s a bit puzzling, eh? We’ll contact Ms. Draper. Do you have her number?”
Judith dug in her purse to find her cell and handed it to the sergeant. “The Big Stove number is on the screen.”
“Thank you.” He jotted it down. “I’ll be in touch with her directly. Anything else?” The tone of his query seemed strained.
Judith shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”
“Then I’ll drive you back to . . .” He paused. “I assume your car is parked in town, eh?”
Judith had stood up. “You don’t need to. We planned on shopping this afternoon. We’ll walk.”
Two minutes later, the cousins were on the sidewalk. Renie was irate. “‘We’ll walk’? Are you insane? I hate to walk! You know I have flat feet.”
“And I have a phony hip,” Judith retorted. “Face it, we’re both not in mint condition even if . . .”
“What?” Renie asked as they crossed Spray Avenue.
“As we were leaving, I saw Adela walking toward the station. Don’t stare, she’s going in now. You browse that woolen shop while I wait at the door for her to come out.”
“Okay,” Renie said. “I’ll browse, you pounce.”
Good Wools Ltd. was busy with what looked like mostly visitors. Judith had to force herself to keep from pawing the various items on display. She assumed a position next to a wooden rack that held a variety of belts. The pungent smell of leather tickled her nose. Meanwhile, Renie plundered various display items from sweaters to skirts to what looked like a suede firefighter’s hat.
After ten minutes had passed, Judith checked her watch. It was exactly two o’clock. The day was getting away from her. She glanced over her shoulder. Renie had also gotten away, apparently into a dressing room to try on clothes. Turning back to the window, she spotted Sergeant Brewster talking to Adela by the station entrance. Judith hurried to the fitting rooms—there were only two—and called her cousin’s name.
“Come on,” she said after Renie opened the door a crack. “I’m leaving.”
“I’m buying,” Renie snapped. “Go away.”
There was no time to argue. Judith exited the shop just as a frazzled-looking Adela crossed the street.
“Hi,” Judith said in a cheerful voice. “Are you in the woolen market, too?”
Adela grimaced. “Not even close. By any chance, are you going back to the motel? I need a ride.”
“Serena’s trying on a few items,” Judith explained. “Our car’s parked near Wild Flour. If you can wait a few minutes, I’ll drive you to the motel.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Adela mumbled. “It’s been a bad day. And I thought we’d be on our way back to Ankeny by now. It’s a suburb of Des Moines.”
“You couldn’t have envisioned what would happen with Codger,” Judith pointed out. “It’s getting a bit warm here under the sun. Would you like to stop for a cool drink?”
Adela seemed to consider the idea but shook her head. “I’d rather go to the motel and get a martini from the bar.”
“We can take you there. I’ll let my cousin know.” She went back inside the store, spotting Renie at the sales counter.
“You abandoned me!” Renie snarled under her breath. “I was forced to spend four hundred and eighty U.S. bucks! If Bill asks, tell him I shoplifted everything.”
“It’d serve you right if he blew a gasket,” Judith shot back. “Pay for your loot and meet me outside. I’ve got Adela in tow. As long as you were buying up the place, I should’ve asked you to get a cardigan for Mother.”
Renie looked indignant. “They don’t do ugly items in this store. Try Saint Vincent de Paul.” With a lift of her short chin, she turned away.
When Judith rejoined Adela, the other woman seemed to have shrunk. Arms crossed as if comforting herself, she huddled in the corner between the store’s entrance and one of the two display windows.
“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Judith inquired. “Physically, I mean.”
Adela shook her head. “I’ll tell you after I get my hand around a martini. A double.”
“Fair enough,” Judith said. The two women stood in silence until Renie emerged, looking like a small, if unruly, Gypsy peddler. Trying on clothes had obviously wreaked havoc with whatever attempt she’d made to tame her wayward chestnut hair.
“Don’t say anything,” Renie growled. “Let’s just walk.” She spat out the last word, making it sound obscene.
Somehow, Adela ended up in between the cousins. The trio must have looked a bit grim, given the way some of the other pedestrians stared briefly and then looked away. Or maybe, Judith thought, they didn’t want to stare because Renie’s eyes were cross-eyed from securing the pile of packages by holding them together with her chin.
It took them five minutes to reach the SUV. Renie finally spoke to Adela. “You can sit up front with Judith. I need more space with my purchases. Oof!” She tumbled onto the floor behind the front seat and cussed a bit.
They drove in silence to the motel. It wasn’t until they reached the empty bar that Adela spoke. “Where’s the bartender?”
“We served ourselves the last time we were here,” Judith explained. “They may be short-staffed. I can mix you a martini. How do you like it?”
Adela seemed dubious. “You’re a freelance writer and a bartender? Isn’t that an odd combination?”
“I tended bar in the evenings at the restaurant my first husband owned,” Judith replied, avoiding any reference to being a freelance writer. “It was called The Meat & Mingle.” She also omitted the M&M’s foreclosure by the IRS. Dan McMonigle hadn’t been inclined to pay taxes. Having seen letters from the IRS addressed to him, Judith asked if something was wrong. Dan’s response had been to stuff all three warning notices in his mouth and swallow them.
“Writers meet interesting people in bars,” Judith said, handing over the martini. “Talking to strangers, especially after a few drinks have loosened their tongues, not only elicits information, but helps a writer in developing characters. So what upset you?”
Adela didn’t answer until she’d taken a big sip of her drink. “Not bad,” she murmured, and took another sip. “The twins took off. Not that I blame them, but they left the Buick behind. Where the hell can they have gone?” She gulped down more of the martini and her eyes glistened with tears.
“Did you go to the RCMP to report them missing?”
“Yes.” Adela pressed her thumb and forefinger on the bridge of her nose as if trying to will her worries away. “Teddy took Norm and me in the pickup, but he didn’t want to wait. That tall sergeant told us about finding the Buick. He insisted there was no sign of damage to it or of any . . . violence, but that’s cold comfort.”
“Where’s Norm now?” Judith asked.
“Still at the station. He’s waiting until an officer can take him to collect the Buick. I couldn’t stand sitting around there. Police stations seem so grim.”
“Not,” Renie broke in, “as grim as the toolshed Judith’s mother lives in.” Seeing her cousin’s annoyed expression, she shrugged. “Just testing my vocal cords to see if they still work. Carry on.”
“Serena knows my family quite well,” Judith said a bit stiffly. “We’ve worked together before. May I be candid?” The other woman nodded faintly. “Who was the murder victim?”
“What kind of a question is that?” Adela demanded, drawing back on her barstool.
“A very basic one,” Judith replied. “We’ve learned that the murdered man may not be Emory Alfred Stokes.”
Adela almost choked on her olive. “That’s absurd! Of course it was him. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“When was the last time you saw Codger?”
Adela had to stop and think. “I was eighteen when I left the farm and never went back. I’m forty-three now.” She winced. “Twenty-five years. But Norm and I got together with Corny and Delia a few times in Omaha. Why on earth would you think Codger wasn’t . . . Codger? And why would you care?”
“As journalists, my cousin and I have to be accurate, especially about names. We understand his first name is actually Emory.”
Adela looked horrified. “You’re going to write this up for your magazine?”
“At the very least,” Judith said, “our Cornucopia editor will want to publish an obit. Codger and the rest of the family must be fairly well known in the world of corn. I can’t afford to make mistakes. The family might sue us.”
Placing an elbow on the bar, Adela put a hand to her head. “We should never have come here.”
“Why did you?”
Adela drained her glass and sighed. “For Pa—my brother Cornelius—and Delia, I suppose.” She paused and turned suspicious. “Who told you Codger wasn’t Emory Alfred Stokes?”
Judith sat up straighter. “I’m afraid I can’t reveal my sources. It’d be unprofessional.”
“Rot.” Adela slid off her stool. “I’m going to go lie down in our room. I can’t stand spending any more time with the rest of the family. Even my brother and his wife seem to have turned weird. Corny and I used to have a few laughs when we were growing up. Suddenly he’s turned into a pickle—and a sour one at that.”
Judith nodded. “Murder will do that to a person.”
Adela didn’t comment.
Judith wondered why.