Free Nutty As a Fruitcake by Mary Daheim Page A

Renie asked in her typically pragmatic style. “Enid hated Christmas. Look at it this way—with her gone from the neighborhood, there’s nobody around to snipe at the season. If they let George out of the funny farm, he’ll probably give you permission to put up your sign.”
    Judith was aghast. “Coz—you’re callous.”
    â€œNo, I’m not. I’m realistic. Lots of people will croak before New Year’s. As long as I’m not one of them, I’ll try not to let that fact spoil my holidays.”
    Phyliss Rackley dropped a wicker clothes basket onto the floor with a loud thud. “Blasphemy, Mrs. Jones! How can you say such things? Besides, the Good Lord wanted Mrs. Goodrich to come home for Christmas. He’ll see that she has a good time in spite of herself.”
    â€œThe good Lord had nothing to do with it,” Renie said flatly. “That was all up to George and his…” She paused, gazing inquisitively at Judith. “His what? An ax?”
    But Judith could only shrug. “I don’t know. The term Art used was…‘hacked.’” Judith gulped on the word.
    Phyliss shrieked. “‘ Hacked’ ? You mean he didn’t just up and shoot her like husbands usually do? Why didn’t you say so?”
    â€œI guess I forgot.” Judith was sounding even more dismal.
    Renie was on her feet, heading for the front door. Judith assumed she was trying to escape from Phyliss. But even as the cleaning woman began a homily on the afterlife featuring joy-filled codgers in flowing white robes welcoming Enid to her mansion in the sky, Renie returned.
    â€œThe cops are gone,” she announced just as Phyliss got to the part about Enid’s brow being adorned with a pearly crown, “but Art and Glenda’s cars are still there.” She arched her eyebrows questioningly at Judith.
    Judith stood up, her energy renewed by the call to action. “I should go over and see if we can do anything for the family,” she said, avoiding Renie’s fixed gaze. “Maybe I could make them some lunch.”
    â€œHold on,” Phyliss said crossly. “I didn’t get to the angels playing tunes of glory on their harps.”
    â€œPraise the Lord,” murmured Renie.
    â€œWhat did that heathen say?” Phyliss demanded.
    Judith gave her cleaning woman a weak smile. “Ah—raise the Ford. Glenda Goodrich drives a Ford, and my cousin wants to…er…um…” Judith was still searching for words as she followed Renie through the entry hall.
    â€œI’m not a heathen,” Renie declared. “I’m a Catholic.”
    â€œSame thing to Phyliss,” Judith retorted, then came to a dead halt in front of the Ericson house. “Shoot—they’ve put up crime scene tape. Do we dare jump over it?”
    â€œAt our age, can we?” But the cousins were still sufficiently nimble to try. They chose to invade the Goodrich property through the shared driveway. Judith noticed that Ted Ericson had finally left for work. The handsome noble fir was now behind the split-rail fence, reposing in a shiny new galvanized bucket.
    â€œWe’ll defer to the deceased’s wishes and use the back door,” Judith said, leading the way to the rear of the house.
    Renie wrinkled her pug nose. “What’s so big about that? We usually use the back door at your place.”
    â€œThat’s different. It’s easier, for one thing. Our garage is in back. If you pull into the drive to leave on-street parkingfor guests, the back door is closer. Plus, I try to reserve the front for the paying customers. It adds tone.”
    The latter remark evoked a dubious expression from Renie. “But Mrs. Goodrich didn’t run a B&B. What was her excuse?”
    â€œShe didn’t want to get her living room dirty,” Judith answered as she started up the four steps that led to the back porch. Her