“I thought you turned down your last two cases.”
“I did,” Joe said, kissing Judith’s cheek. “Defend me against the infidel. As in ‘infidelity.’ I’m sick of following husbands and wives who stray. Why don’t suspicious spouses just ask?”
Judith mixed hard-boiled egg yolks with mayonnaise and tiny shrimp. “So what kind of research were you doing?”
“For our vacation,” Joe replied. “Sporting goods stores, the travel agent on top of Heraldsgate Hill, checking with Bill and his resources.”
“Have you made a choice?”
Joe took a bottle of Harp lager out of the fridge. “I’ve narrowed it down to three places. Bill says he’ll go along with any of them.”
“The Joneses will definitely come with us?” Judith asked.
“So it seems.” Joe removed the lid from the lager and eyed the deviled eggs Judith was sprinkling with paprika. “May I?”
“Just one.” From overhead, Judith could hear some of the guests stirring. Four of the six rooms were occupied—not a bad number for a Tuesday in early March. “What about dates?”
Washing down a bite of egg with the beer, Joe strolled over to the calendar on the bulletin board. “That’s tricky, since we don’t know our destination. The third week of March would work. But,” he added, “the bet’s still on, so nothing can be firmed up.”
Judith shrugged. “We can’t force Mother to say what each of us wants to hear. Maybe,” Judith said, avoiding Joe’s gaze, “we should have made a different kind of bet.”
Joe chuckled. “You’re waffling. You know I’m going to win.”
“Well…given Mother’s history, the odds are in your favor.”
“You bet they are,” said Joe.
But, Judith thought smugly, Joe didn’t know the deck was stacked against him.
The rain stopped during the night. Wednesday, the third of March, dawned with mostly blue skies and only a thirty percent chance of rain. Of course the local forecast changed approximately every half hour. As a native, Judith trusted her instincts, not the meteorologists.
When her cleaning woman, Phyliss Rackley, arrived, Judith informed her that the plan for the day would be slightly altered.
“I’ve asked Joe to help clean out some stuff from the garage,” Judith explained, “so I won’t have time to fold the laundry when you get done. Leave it in the pantry and I’ll get to it later.”
“Later?” Phyliss’s beady eyes scrutinized Judith. “It’s later than you think. Saint Peter’s going tick-a-lock with those pearly gates for me even as we speak. I’m poorly. Very poorly.”
Judith feigned sympathy. “Really? That’s a shame. Maybe you should take the day off to see a doctor.”
Phyliss’s eyes practically bugged out. “Are you serious? You think I’m…terminal?”
Judith shrugged. “You know your own body. You’ve had so many close calls that I’m hardly surprised if The End Is Near.”
“Well.” Phyliss swallowed so hard Judith could see her Adam’s apple move on her scrawny neck. “I might be able to last the day if I take my tonic.”
“Good idea.” Having dismissed her cleaning woman’s latest bout of hypochondria, Judith headed outside to find Joe in the backyard, swinging a golf club.
“Where’d you find that?” Judith asked.
“In the cupboard on the side of the garage,” Joe replied. He took another swing. “There’s almost a complete set. They aren’t mine.”
“They belonged to my father,” Judith said. “He golfed. The clubs must be seventy years old.”
“They’re not exactly the latest graphite type,” Joe noted, looking up at the gray clouds that were gathering overhead. “It’s going to rain. We should put off this job until afternoon. Or tomorrow.”
“No.” Judith’s tone was unusually sharp. “I mean, it could rain until the end of June. We’ll be in the garage most of the time anyway.”
Joe looked resigned. “So what should I do with these clubs?”
“Get rid of them, I guess. Bill used to golf once in a while but he hasn’t done that in years.” She paused. “Let me show them to Mother. Did you find Mike’s Louisville Slugger yet?”
“I saw it in there,” Joe replied. “Does he want it back?”
“He might—for the boys,” Judith said. “Our grandsons are getting old enough to play ball.”
“Okay.” Joe handed Judith what looked to her like a club that might be some kind of iron. He went back to the garage; she hurried to the toolshed.
“Mother,” she said, “it’s time to strut your stuff.”
“What stuff?” Gertrude retorted, looking glum. “My stuff lost its stuffing a long time ago. What’s with the golf club? Are you going to beat me with it if I don’t do whatever I’m supposed to do?”
“It’s part of the set that belonged to my father,” Judith said, showing the club to her mother. “Remember?”
With a tentative hand, the old lady reached out to touch the club’s shaft. “Oh yes. I remember,” she said softly. “He was no Bobby Jones, but he tried. And he never cheated like some golfers do.”
