by Mary Daheim
The waves slapped onto the beach below the bluff. The tide was coming in, covering the rocky reefs that mottled the little cove. In the distance, there were more pleasurecraft and at least three larger vessels, possibly heading north to Canada. Just as Judith was about to get up to freshen their drinks, a kayak glided around the corner of the bluff.
“Is that Rafe?” Judith asked.
Renie had better distance vision. “I think so. He must be heading for Hidden Cove. According to Doc’s map, it’s not far from Chavez Cove, just around the part of the island that juts out over there.” She gestured to their right.
The kayak passed across the channel and disappeared. Judith went back into the house. As she got more ice from the freezer dispenser, a knock sounded at the back door. It was Cilla, looking upset.
“That Miss Hennessy put something down the toilet that backed it up,” Cilla complained, beads of perspiration standing out on her forehead. “She denies it, of course, but that’s why it’s plugged. I used my snake to clear the line, but my wrench is missing. Have you got it?”
“I don’t know,” Judith said, again forced to admit ignorance. “Where would it be?”
“In my tool kit,” Cilla answered, looking as if she were on the verge of tears. “Except it isn’t. First the hammer, now the wrench. And where are my rubber gloves?” She held her small hands in front of her. They looked too dainty to wield heavy tools. “I’m not careless! But after…” Cilla gave herself a good shake. She seemed to regain some of her composure. “I can’t imagine anybody swiping my stuff. Maybe I’m just muddled. I could have left some of it here. Have you seen it?”
Judith shook her head. “Do you want to look in the garage or the storage shed? I’ve got the keys.”
“No. There aren’t any tools in the garage, just Duane’s Jeep. And the shed is stuffed with ducks.”
Judith blinked. “Ducks?”
Cilla nodded. “That’s what Duane did. He carved duck decoys. Haven’t you noticed them around the house?”
“I saw one on the shelf by the TV,” Judith replied.
“There are more. Check the sunroom, the loft, the exercise area. Duane carved those things day and night. But he couldn’t sell them.” Cilla’s pretty face evinced disgust.
“Why not?”
“Because,” Cilla answered, wiping the perspiration off her forehead, “he always made mistakes. Look at the one in the bookcase. It’s got three eyes. Excuse me, I’d better get home to start dinner.” Cilla headed for the back door, her compact little figure still exuding frustration.
Renie was exuding impatience. “More booze? Who needs it? How about some dinner? I thought you were putting on the water to boil the pasta.”
Judith explained about Cilla’s predicament. Renie listened with mild interest. “I can imagine the plumbing problems they’ve got in a place like this,” she allowed. “There’s not much water pressure, probably because there’s not much water. Let’s hope we have enough to cook the fusilli.”
Ten minutes later, Judith had the kettle boiling on the gas range. The trestle table that faced the deck was set with Jeanne’s bright blue-and-pink pottery plates. Renie had filled a wooden bowl with romaine lettuce, tomatoes, green onions, and radishes. The baguette was heating in the oven and the prawns were sautéeing in garlic when H. Burrell Hodge appeared at the back door.
“It’s six-oh-five,” he announced. “H. Burrell Hodge likes to eat on time. Is dinner ready?”
“Excuse me?” Judith said, taken aback. “I left you a note. Didn’t you see it?”
“I did not.” Hodge seemed to be simmering with indignation. “And if I had?”
“It advised you to buy your food at the Wicker Basket,” Judith responded, unable to prevent Hodge from barging into the house. “I provide breakfast. Period.”
“This is the dinner period,” Hodge countered, glancing at his watch. “Six-oh-six, to be exact. Where do I sit?”
Renie had come in from the deck. “How about not here? This is a private residence, not a restaurant.”
“H. Burrell Hodge doesn’t agree,” the pompous man declared, heading straight for the trestle table that stood on the other side of the blue-tiled work counter. “What are we having?” He saw the highball glasses and recoiled. “Not alcoholic beverages! That won’t do! I’ve already thrown that bottle of champagne into the garbage. Do you know how many lives have been ruined by strong drink?”
“Do you know how many dispositions have been ruined by strong opinions?” an incensed Renie shot back.
Hodge bristled. “Lips that touch liquor will never touch mine.”
Defiantly, Renie took a big swig of bourbon. “You can count on it, Burrell. I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
“Let’s all calm down,” Judith urged, as she counted the simmering prawns. There were an even dozen. Divided by three, that made four apiece. Renie wouldn’t be happy to share.
“We’re having dinner for two,” Renie asserted. “Beat it.”
Though appalled by her cousin’s attitude, Judith knew she had to side with Renie. “It’s a rule,” she insisted. “Mrs. Barber doesn’t do dinner.”
“Mrs. Barber isn’t here,” Hodge countered. “H. Burrell Hodge is.” He wedged himself between the table and the matching bench. “Ah! Do I smell garlic? H. Burrell Hodge is fond of garlic!”
“Guess what?” Renie said, placing a knee on the bench next to Hodge. “I’m not fond of rude people who try to steal my dinner. You’re not eating our pasta, but you might end up wearing it. Am I being clear?”
Hodge glared at Renie. “You’re very maddening,” he averred, picking up the silverware that had been intended for Renie. “H. Burrell Hodge doesn’t give in to silly threats from mouthy women who drink too much. Where are my prawns?”
“That does it!” Renie was enraged. She snatched up the heavy blue-and-pink plate and cracked it over Hodge’s head. The plate broke. Hodge let out a howl of pain. Clutching his head with one hand, he made a fist with the other.
“Damn your hide! I’m reporting this to the authorities! You assaulted me! I’ll sue!”
Judith was staring at Hodge in horror, but the unrepentant Renie had gone to the cupboard to get another plate. “I’ll use a skillet next time,” she snapped. “Did you think I was kidding about the prawns? R. Grover Jones doesn’t kid about food!”
A bump was already rising on Hodge’s skull. Judith was torn. Her naturally sympathetic nature compelled her to render help.
“Let me put some ice in a plastic bag,” she offered. “Please sit, Mr. Hodge. I really feel bad about this, but we tried to tell you how things are run at Chavez Cove. After all, I didn’t make the rules.”
Hodge’s gaze was malicious. “Don’t come near me. You’ll pay for this,” he snarled. “Both of you. My lawyers will be in touch, and so will the police.” Still holding his head, he mounted the single step to the rear hall and went out the back door.
Renie was dishing up prawns with a vengeance. Judith, however, had lost her appetite. She leaned against the counter divider, feeling a little sick. “Coz,” she said in a plaintive voice, “I honestly think you might have handled that with a little more…finesse.”
Renie’s mouth was set in a stubborn line. “I broke my word,” she admitted. “But at least I didn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. He’s lucky I’m small instead of…”
Before she could finish speaking her piece, there was another great howl and a terrible crash. The cousins stared at each other, then raced to the back door. Far down at the bottom of the steep steps lay H. Burrell Hodge, in a motionless heap.
“Oh my God!” Judith cried. “He must have fallen!” She started down the steps, somehow mindful of hanging onto the rail.
Renie, now pale and shaken, remained in the doorway. “Shall I call 911?” she shouted after Judith.
Judith didn’t answer. She was intent only on reaching Hodge’s prone form. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, Judit
h hurried to his side and felt for a pulse.
There wasn’t any. Judith closed her eyes and groaned. H. Burrell Hodge was dead.
FIVE
THE 911 OPERATOR sounded as if she were on another continent, rather than just an island away. The telephone line crackled and squawked as Judith tried to explain what had happened and where the tragedy had occurred. In calm, if partly indistinguishable tones, the operator informed Judith that help would arrive as soon as possible. Dusk was settling in, and it might be too late to send a helicopter because there were no landing lights at the pad. But emergency personnel could come to Chavez by boat.
“Please stay calm,” the operator urged before ringing off.
“Calm!” Judith held her head. “I can’t believe it! How could this happen to me?” She sank onto a tall stool next to the kitchen counter.
Renie was still too stunned to speak. She wandered from the kitchen to the sunroom to the deck and back into the kitchen again. At last, she recovered her voice.
“It’s not your fault, it’s mine,” she said, slipping onto one of the other stools. “Contrary to what you may think, I didn’t try to kill H. Burrell Hodge because I wanted more prawns. In fact, I’ve lost my appetite. Let’s call Doc. We can’t just leave Hodge lying down there at the bottom of the stairs.”
It took Judith a few moments to remember Doc’s single-digit phone number. But when she punched 3, there was no answer. Growing frantic, she remembered that he had a second number, for his residence above the store. Judith dialed 4 and heard Doc’s voice after the third ring.
Trying to follow the operator’s advice and keep calm, Judith limited her account to the barest of facts: “Mr. Hodge came by expecting dinner, and when we told him we didn’t serve meals at the house, he left. Apparently, he fell down those steep back stairs and killed himself. We’ve called 911, but it doesn’t sound as if they’ll get here right away. What should we do?”
“Good Lord,” Doc burst out, sounding as shaken as Judith felt. “The man’s dead? Are you sure? Never mind—I’ll be right over.” Doc hung up.
Judith told Renie that Doc was on his way. Renie gave her cousin a bleak look. “Do you really think I killed him?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“No,” Judith responded without hesitation. “He fell.”
“But hitting him with that plate might have made him dizzy.” She glanced guiltily into the trash can, where she’d put the pieces of broken pottery. “He could have been disoriented. I might as well have killed him. Coz, I feel awful!”
Judith said nothing. Renie could be right. She had logic on her side. Judith slid off the stool and headed for the back door.
“Come on. I hate to do it, but we’d better go down to meet Doc.”
In the interim between trips out the back way, the fairy lights had come on. Their golden glow danced among the ivy like so many fireflies. The charming contrast with the grisly scene at the bottom of the stairs made Judith wince. Both cousins avoided looking at Hodge’s body. They cut a wide swath as they walked toward the road to wait for Doc Wicker.
Doc was huffing from exertion when he arrived less than five minutes later. To Judith’s surprise, he carried what looked like a medical bag.
“Let’s have a look,” he said grimly. “Turn on those floodlights by the garage.”
It took Judith a few seconds to find the switch, but when she did, the open area by the stairs and the garage and storage shed was as illuminated as if it had been high noon. Doc bent over Hodge, then suddenly stiffened.
“What’s this man’s name?” he asked in a shaky voice.
“H. Burrell Hodge,” Judith said, startled by Doc’s reaction.
For a motionless moment, Doc continued to stare at Hodge. “A dead body is always a shock,” he finally murmured, then composed himself and checked for vital signs. When he found none, he studied the dead man’s head. With careful fingers, he pressed various parts of the skull, then leaned even closer to examine the ears.
“There’s some sign of hemorrhaging behind the eardrums,” Doc said, standing up and dusting off his baggy trousers. “That indicates a fracture. How’d this happen?”
Renie started to speak, but Judith interrupted. “He must have hit his head when he fell down the stairs.” She shot her cousin a warning glance.
Doc gazed at the long staircase, then eyed Judith and Renie with what appeared to be suspicion. “Those steps are made of wood. I don’t see how they could do this kind of damage. Maybe the bump on the head, but not the back of the skull. It looks to me as if it’s been severely damaged.” He fingered his chin, obviously perplexed. “I could be wrong, of course. In any case, we shouldn’t move him; but a blanket might be in order.”
“I’ll get one,” Judith volunteered. “We’re sure lucky you know a lot about first aid.” She caught an odd light in Doc’s eyes just before she turned to hurry up the stairs. His words troubled her. So did his manner. It wasn’t merely that Judith felt guilty about lying to Doc. There was something else that disturbed her. Searching the linen closet for a blanket, she reined in her imagination. The tragedy of H. Burrell Hodge had scrambled her brain as well as his.
Returning to the bottom of the stairs, Judith noticed that Renie had wandered off by the garage, ostensibly to study the wild rhododendrons that grew at the edge of the woods. Doc had lighted his pipe, and was leaning against the banister. He had regained his poise, but signs of tension remained on his usually genial face. Judith also felt tense. Delicately, she covered Hodge’s body with the blanket. Nothing showed but his shoes.
“Do you know who his next of kin are?” Doc asked.
Judith shook her head. “All I have is an address in town. Shouldn’t we leave notification to the authorities?”
“Probably,” Doc replied. “If the authorities ever get here.”
“It’s a sheriff’s jurisdiction, I suppose,” Judith said. “Santa Lucia County?”
Doc nodded. “We’re way overextended up here. Too much growth and not enough funding. Tourism is the only real industry. Just about everybody else is either retired, independently wealthy, or some kind of artisan. Writers and painters, too. Some of the land’s suitable for farming, but agriculture forms a meager 2 percent of the economic base.”
“What you’re saying is that law enforcement is limited,” Judith remarked.
“County law enforcement, yes.” Doc fiddled with his pipe, which was proving recalcitrant. “There are plenty of park rangers and such, but they don’t have anything to do with the likes of us on Chavez.”
“Oh dear.” Judith sighed, running a frazzled hand through her silver-streaked hair. “Surely someone will show up tonight?”
“Let’s hope.” Doc was watching Renie, who still seemed absorbed in the local flora. “What’s with her?”
“She’s upset,” Judith answered. “So am I. I’ll have to call Jeanne at the spa and tell her what happened.”
Frowning, Doc turned back to Judith. “Why? She’s already had one death here in the last few weeks. Let her relax and unwind. That’s why she left. There’s nothing she can do about this mess from Palm Desert.”
Judith didn’t agree. “Hodge’s heirs may file suit. Jeanne will need to contact her insurance company. Her lawyer, too. Does she have one?”
“I think so. Someone on the mainland.” Doc was again observing Renie. “If I were you, I’d take your cousin inside and give her some brandy. You look like you could use a little jolt yourself. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t say no, either.”
Judith approached Renie, who jumped when she sensed her cousin’s nearness. “I’m thinking of hanging myself,” she muttered. “Do you suppose there’s a rope in the storage shed?”
Assuming that her cousin wasn’t serious, Judith found Renie’s attitude reassuring. It wasn’t like members of the Grover clan to give in to tribulation. As their grandmother used to say, it was better to laugh than to cry, and in any circumstances, a Grover should remember to, as Grandma put it,
“Keep your pecker up.”
Judith, Renie, and Doc went up to the house. It didn’t seem right to leave H. Burrell Hodge lying there alone, but on the other hand, a vigil wasn’t necessary. Nor was Hodge going anywhere. Judith got out the brandy and poured stiff shots into three snifters.
“Did you know anything about Mr. Hodge?” Judith asked Doc after the trio had seated themselves in the living room.
“Not really.” Doc sat in a rocking chair which permitted him a full view through the tall front windows. His eyes seemed fixed on the pink-hued glow of the setting sun. “I don’t keep track of everybody who comes to Chavez. There’re just too many of them.”
Renie took only a sip of brandy before getting up from the sofa. She held the snifter in both hands. “Sorry, I’m going to throw myself into the Jacuzzi. Maybe that’ll un-knot some of my muscles. Let me know when the sheriff or whoever gets here.”
“Don’t drown in there,” Judith said, only half-kidding.
At the entrance to the sunken master bedroom, Renie gave Judith a wry little smile. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. You shouldn’t have lied for me,” Renie whispered, moving away from the door. “When the sheriff comes, I’m telling him what happened.”
“No, you’re not,” Judith insisted, also keeping her voice down. “Yes, you hit Hodge with that plate. But he deserved it, he egged you on. He was an impossible person. And we don’t know if your conking him over the head had anything to do with his fall or…” Judith stopped and stared at Renie. “That’s it!” she gasped. “You conked him over the head!”
“I know,” Renie said impatiently. “I just told you, I’m willing to admit…”
“No, no,” Judith said excitedly. “I mean you hit the top of his head, not the back. All you did was raise a bump.”
“So it caused him to fall down the stairs and bash his skull.” Renie shook her head. “It comes to the same thing.”
“Doc doesn’t seem to think so.” Judith’s black eyes bore down on Renie’s skeptical face. “Go soak yourself and think about it, coz. I’m getting some funny feelings about how H. Burrell Hodge died.”