they want to eat here,” Josh said. “They won’t take no
for an answer. I think you’d better talk to them.”
“Excuse me,” Charles said to Judith. “This happens
almost every Sunday when we’re closed to regular diners. In fact, this is the second time an insistent couple
has shown up this evening. I won’t be long.”
Judith got up and strolled over to the big windows.
It was dark and the fog was thick. She couldn’t see any
lights, not even directly below the restaurant, which
was located about halfway up Heraldsgate Hill. When
she turned around again, she saw Charles leading a
middle-aged couple inside and up the winding staircase. The man was big, bald, and bearlike; the woman
was small, dark, and of Asian descent. Apparently,
they had an entree to one of the private parties upstairs,
and Judith didn’t think they were keeping up with the
Joneses.
She could almost smell the aroma of Wienie Wizards wafting behind the couple as they disappeared
onto the second floor.
SIXTEEN
JUDITH WANTED VERY much to see Heathcliffe and
Amy Lee MacDermott up close. She wasn’t sure
why, but it seemed important to talk to them. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of an excuse to get
past the Smith party’s mahogany door.
For several moments Judith stared down at the
smooth black marble bar, where she could see her
reflection. It was distorted by the slight grain, making her look old, tired, and ugly. A crone, she
thought, and was disheartened.
What was she doing at Capri’s, seeking clues to a
murder that might not be a murder? Was she bloodthirsty, as Renie had remarked? Surely possession
of material goods wasn’t so important that it made
her wish that one person had killed another. No, that
wasn’t the real reason she preferred murder over
more mundane deaths. So why was she beating herself up so badly? Slowly, she turned to the windows
again. There was nothing to see. The night was as
dark and blank as her brain.
Yet Judith knew that if the fog suddenly lifted,
the city’s lights would glitter like stars on a clear
winter’s eve. The lakes and the mountains were
there, if only she could see them. So were the answers
to the riddle that was Bruno’s death. Judith always had
to know. If only the fog would lift from her brain, she
could find the truth.
Charles hadn’t come down from the second floor.
There was still no sign of the waiters. Judith was curious. The guests must be getting served. How was the
food coming from the kitchen, if not via the iron staircase?
Hurriedly, she crossed the restaurant to the far side,
where she saw a plain brown door. Turning the knob,
she discovered a narrow hallway on her left that presumably led to the kitchen. On her right was a staircase.
