Vi Agra Falls by Mary Daheim Page B

have biscuits.”
    â€œNot this morning,” Judith replied. “Tomorrow, perhaps. The weather’s too warm to turn on the oven.”
    The husband gripped the back of the oak captain’s chair that had always been reserved for Grandpa Grover. “Warm? You don’t know what ‘warm’ is. If you lived in Iowa, you’d be wearing a couple of sweaters in this kind of so-called ‘warm.’ Hell’s bells, try working out in the cornfields in August to make danged sure that every ear on every stalk is getting enough danged fertilizer to produce every danged kernel without any danged gaps. Then, if it’s still hot— danged hot—in mid-September, that’s when we start the harvest. Now, that can be danged miserable!”
    â€œNo doubt,” Judith said. “Excuse me. I have to check the sausages.”
    â€œTomato juice for me,” the wife called after Judith. “Grapefruit gives me sour stomach.”
    The Iowans were souring Judith’s disposition. Back in the kitchen, she brought up the couple’s reservations to memorize their last name: It was Griggs. It should, she thought, have been Gripes.
    Judith was removing the bacon from the skillet when she heard the foursome from Bakersfield enter the dining room. They were exchanging pleasantries—or trying to—with the Griggses. By the time Judith had brought out the rest of the buffet items, the young Bostonians arrived at the table. The only parties not yet up and about were the newlyweds and, more ominously, Marva Lou and Frankie Buss.
    Just before nine, Joe came downstairs, dressed for the day but still in an edgy mood.
    â€œI don’t suppose,” Judith said drily as she dished up scrambled eggs, sausage, and pancakes for both of them, “you’d care to let me know what’s going on at Herself’s house?”
    Joe had refilled his coffee mug and took a big drink before answering. “According to what was found in his wallet, the vic was Charles Brooks, sixty-eight, from Henderson, Nevada. No emergency contact information on him, but there was an address and a phone number in the 702 area code.”
    Judith sat down across from Joe. “He really was murdered?”
    â€œHe was strangled.” Joe popped a bite of sausage in his mouth.
    â€œYou mean hanged?”
    Joe shook his head and finished chewing. “Despite Vivian’s description of how she found the guy, he wasn’t hanged. There was a long rope around his neck. The end of it had been tossed over a low-lying limb of the cherry tree, and the vic was propped up against the trunk. I suppose that in the dark it might have looked to Vivian as if he’d been hanged.”
    â€œEspecially,” Judith added wryly, “if she was crocked.”
    â€œBack off,” Joe retorted. “Unlike you, Vivian isn’t used to stumbling over corpses. She’s damned upset.”
    Judith put her fork down and folded her arms across her chest. “You think I find bodies on purpose. Okay, so the discovery disturbed Vivian. I understand. I’ll try to stop making cracks about her. But remember, I’m the one who worried about her return causing trouble. You can’t say you weren’t warned.”
    Joe didn’t reply. Only a flicker of his green eyes indicated that he’d acknowledged his wife’s words.
    Judith waited a couple of minutes before she spoke. “Nobody knows this guy?”
    Joe shook his head again. “He wasn’t on their guest list. Vivian and Billy didn’t recognize him. Neither did the assistant, Adelita. She wasn’t there last night and only got back this morning just before I left.”
    â€œWhy wasn’t she at the party?”
    â€œI gather she had some relatives in town and stayed with them at their motel,” Joe said. “Oh, don’t worry,” he went on in a caustic tone, “the cops will check her