All the Pretty Hearses by Mary Daheim Page B

here.”
    “They got coats, don’t they? How about blankets?” Gertrude gazed reverently at the pie. “Are you going to warm it up? I wouldn’t mind some vanilla ice cream on top.”
    “Sure,” Judith replied. She put the pieces of pie on a larger, single plate, slid them into the microwave, and pressed the timer. “How much did you see today when Joe was . . . arrested?”
    Gertrude chortled. “Enough to give me a good laugh. I haven’t had one of those since Auntie Vance tried to shove Uncle Vince under the U-Haul in the cul-de-sac last summer.”
    Judith got a scoop out of the drawer and removed a quart of ice cream from the freezer. “So how did you find out he was arrested?”
    “Uncle Vince? You mean after he got in the U-Haul and drove it off down the Counterbalance? Couldn’t blame him. He thought it was the milk truck he used to drive before he retired. Your auntie Vance can make anybody go crazy. But she means well.”
    “I meant Joe,” Judith said, her benign mood toward Gertrude beginning to fray.
    “Oh. Him.” Gertrude cocked her head to one side. “Because Knucklehead came to tell me he’d finally gotten caught for all his evil ways. I told him it was about fifteen years too late.”
    The microwave timer went off. “Joe came to the toolshed?” Judith asked, taking out the pie.
    “Where else? Since when did I move to Buckingham Palace?”
    “What did he say?”
    Gertrude didn’t answer immediately. She was distracted by the scoopful of ice cream her daughter was dumping on top of the pie. “Mmm-mm! Did you make this?”
    “No,” Judith replied, “it was on sale at Falstaff’s last summer. I froze two of them for a rainy day.”
    “It is that,” Gertrude said. She took her first taste and chewed happily.
    Judith had sat down across from her mother. “What did Joe say?”
    Gertrude shook her head and pointed to her mouth. “Bewwy theedth. Thuck in my denturth. Waid . . .” Dislodging the berry seeds, the old lady shrugged. “That he was going to jail. There was a police car in the driveway with two nice-looking young officers standing by. That kind of surprised me. Whatever happened to paddy wagons?”
    “Was Joe in handcuffs?”
    Gertrude shook her head. “Not then. Lunkhead went over to the car and they put the cuffs on him before he got inside. I waited until they drove away.” She ate more pie and ice cream. “Say, do they still cart criminals around to work on a chain gang? I’d like to see Dunderhead out there on the highway under a hot sun with a shovel.” She frowned. “Too bad it’s winter.”
    Judith couldn’t respond. She’d just taken her first bite of pie when the phone rang. Swallowing without choking to death, she got up and retrieved the phone from its cradle on the counter.
    “Judith?” a faintly familiar voice said. “This is Addison Kirby. Do you have a reservation for tonight?”
    “Tonight?” Judith asked in surprise. “For you?”
    “Yes.” He paused. “I know it’s short notice, but I have some problems with the condo I bought after Joan died. I live at the bottom of the hill and thought maybe if you—”
    “Yes, definitely,” Judith broke in, sensing that this was no ordinary request. “What a coincidence. I was going to call you this evening.”
    “Mental telepathy,” Addison replied. “I’ll see you shortly.”
    Gertrude eyed Judith suspiciously. “You already got a boyfriend? What if Dumbhead escapes from jail?”
    “That was Addison Kirby, the newspaper reporter,” Judith explained. “He needs somewhere to stay tonight because there’s something wrong at his condo. Apparently a lot of people are having problems with . . . gas.”
    Gertrude shook her head. “They should do what I do. Take some Pepto-Dismal or whatever it’s called and rub their stomachs. Works for me every time.”
    “I mean gas as in heating,” Judith said crossly, aware that her mother knew exactly what she was talking about. “You may recall