Free Wed and Buried by Mary Daheim Page A

the telephone, which sat on a small round pedestal table near the grandfather clock. “Coz?” said Judith when Renie answered as the clock chimed ten. “Are you awake?”
    â€œSort of,” Renie replied with a yawn. “What’s up? Besides me, though I don’t know why.”
    Judith explained about hearing Kip’s voice on KRAS-FM. “I thought he was a country and western DJ.”
    â€œHe is.” Renie yawned again. “He’s been working for KRAS-FM’s affiliate, KORN-AM. But after seven years he wanted a change, so he quit a couple of weeks ago. I don’t think he’s made up his mind about a new job yet. I suppose he’s filling in for somebody who’s sick.”
    â€œOh. Yes,” Judith added quickly. “He said he was subbing for that loud-mouthed Harley Davidson.”
    Renie chuckled. “I’ve accidentally heard Harley Davidson a couple of times. The kids love him, but he gets on my nerves. Kip’s a lot more mellow. I should tune him in—if I can stand the music he’s playing. Maybe I’ll give Bill’s niece, Kerri, a call about doing lunch. She actually sits down with me when we eat together.” Renie’s implication was clear.
    â€œSorry, coz,” Judith said in an abject tone. “I thought you’d understand. You know how distracted I get around dead bodies.”
    â€œRight, sure, I guess.” Renie had stopped yawning, but she seemed tired of Judith’s excuses. Or perhaps she, too, was distracted: Judith could hear a voice in the background.
    â€œHave you got a man there?” Judith inquired.
    â€œMy husband,” Renie answered dryly. “He doesn’t teach summer quarter, as you know perfectly well.” She paused; the masculine voice was still speaking. “But that wasn’t Bill,” Renie finally said. “That was the news on KRAS-FM. I turned the radio on while we were talking. They just mentioned your favorite stiff. No ID yet—but you must know that.”
    â€œI knew it as of seven-thirty when Joe left for work. Did they say anything else?” Judith asked, moving out of Phyliss’s way as the cleaning woman dusted the grandfather clock.
    â€œNot that I could tell,” Renie replied. “The announcer—Kip goes on break during the news—said that the body found stabbed to death in the condemned Belmont Hotel hadn’t yet been officially identified, but police were investigating. No mention of the woman, no mention of the body being attired in a tux. Your husband is playing this one close to his chest.”
    â€œHe usually does,” Judith sighed, then went on in a more obsequious tone. “Do you want to go to lunch today? I could spare some time.”
    Renie, however, could not. She had more page proofs to check at the Belle Epoch. “I should be done around three, though,” Renie added. “I Magnifique is having a big sale of spring clothes. Do you want to meet me there and have a drink afterwards?”
    Judith drummed her nails on the cherrywood tabletop. “Well…if I could get home before five so I have time to do the hors d’oeuvres…”
    â€œWe could skip the drinks—if we find anything worth trying on,” Renie noted. “See you at three, third-floor salon?”
    Judith gulped. The salon fashions were out of her price range. They were out of Renie’s, too, but she somehow managed to scrimp on her everyday ragamuffin wardrobe which allowed her an occasional extravagance. “Okay,” Judith finally agreed. “But I may go down to sportswear on two.”
    After hanging up, Judith heard the mailman arrive on the front porch. His name was Cecil, and he hadn’t been on the route very long. By the time Judith stepped outside, Cecil was being accosted by Uncle Gurd.
    â€œYou oughtta be ashamed, wearing a uniform that represents a no-good government like that passel of