by Mary Daheim
Fumbling with the locks, Judith finally got the door open. Rafe’s chiseled features revealed genuine concern. “I picked up the emergency call on my shortwave radio,” he said, stepping into the living room. “Actually, I only heard it a few minutes ago, when Lulu McLean called into Laurel Harbor on the return trip. What happened?”
Judith debated whether or not to tell Rafe the whole story. Like Doc, he seemed sympathetic. But if H. Burrell Hodge had been murdered, Judith already had acknowledged that the number of suspects was small. Rafe was one of them. On the other hand, news would travel fast in a tiny community like Chavez Island.
“Mr. Hodge died from an apparent fall down the front steps here,” she said, deciding on discretion. “There’ll be an autopsy.”
“Given what I heard over the radio, I should hope so.” Rafe seemed troubled, his usual ironic manner shaken. “Have you informed the other guests?”
“Um…not yet.” Judith grimaced. “Do you think I should? Or would it be better to wait until morning?”
Rafe strolled over to the stone fireplace. “I think you have an obligation,” he said gravely. “If you like, I’ll go with you.”
Judith gave him a grateful smile, then checked herself. Heading out into the darkened woods with Rafe St. Jacques could be dangerous. “Maybe we should have Doc come, too. He signed the death certificate.”
Rafe lifted one dark eyebrow, but his voice was smooth: “That’s fine. Ring him up and ask him to meet us at the head of the trail.” He glanced around the living room and into the kitchen. “Where’s your sister?”
“She’s my cousin. She’s sleeping. Do you think it’s okay to leave her alone?”
Briefly, Rafe looked uncertain. Then authority returned to his voice. “We won’t be gone long. You and Cilla have the only keys, right?”
“I guess so,” Judith replied. “Let me get my jacket.”
In the bedroom, Renie was still sound asleep. Judith returned to the living room to discover that Rafe had gone into the kitchen. He was hanging up the phone.
“I called Doc,” he said, starting for the front door. “He’s not feeling well. We’ll have to go without him.”
Judith hesitated, wondering if she could believe Rafe. Or Doc. Then she gathered her nerve and went out the door. “Tell me about Doc,” she said, turning both keys to secure the locks. “Why did he give up his practice?”
“Did he tell you that?” Rafe’s tone was wary.
“More or less. What happened?” She stepped aside, indicating that Rafe should go first. Judith didn’t want him behind her on the steep stairs.
“It was before my time,” Rafe answered, taking a flash-light out from under his moleskin hunting jacket. He kept ahead of Judith, shining the light along the path.
“What was before your time?” she persisted.
“Whatever made him quit his medical practice.” Rafe didn’t elaborate, and Judith kept quiet for a few moments, keeping one eye on the trail, and the other on her companion’s catlike stride.
“Something in particular made him quit?” She hoped the question was casual.
“So I’ve heard.” They had come into the open area, where the flagstone paths branched off. Rafe stopped and gazed down at Judith, his azure eyes mysterious in the evening shadows. “Sometimes people are forced to stop doing what they love,” Rafe said with feeling as Judith tried to keep her gaze steady. “It’s not always their fault. Not really. But they blame themselves anyway. And they never forget.” He turned away and headed for Fawn, the Estacadas’ cabin. She sensed that Rafe wasn’t talking only about Doc; the melancholy in his voice also might have been for himself.
The honeymooning Estacadas weren’t pleased by the intrusion. Judith felt embarrassed, but Rafe took over. He informed the couple that Mr. Hodge had suffered a fatal accident. While there was probably no cause for alarm, any sign of a stranger should be reported immediately to him or to Mrs. Flynn.
“You mean there’s a madman loose?” Stacie Estacada cried, clutching her black peignoir close to her slim body. “I thought you said it was an accident!”
“We haven’t yet had official word,” Rafe said quietly. “It never hurts to be careful.”
“What kind of a place is this?” Stacie demanded, moving into the protective circle of her husband’s arms. “We came here for a romantic getaway!”
“Now Stacie,” Rob said in a soothing tone, “sometimes things just happen. Nobody can control events.”
“How true,” Rafe said grimly. “That’s a lesson in life we all have to learn. Good night.”
The Estacadas now looked more frightened than annoyed. But Rafe moved purposefully off the porch, with Judith trailing behind him. When they reached Doe, June Hennessy was already outside.
“What’s going on?” she queried. “I heard voices.”
Again, Rafe explained what had happened. Miss Hennessy’s reaction was quite different from the Estacadas’.
“Just as I suspected,” the headmistress averred. “That dreadful man was a troublemaker. If he had an accident, he probably brought it on himself. Now you understand why I feel so strongly about outside influences on my students. The world is full of scoundrels.”
It seemed to Judith that June Hennessy’s response was evidence of her vast experience with social ills and human nature. Judith grudgingly admired the other woman’s raw candor, if not her cynicism.
After Miss Hennessy had stalked back into her cabin, Judith gazed in the direction of Buck. “Deputy McLean is supposed to notify Mr. Hodge’s next of kin, but I don’t think she found much information in his wallet. Should we check his belongings? I feel responsible.”
Rafe concurred. Judith used her extra key, but paused on the threshold. Even before she flipped on the lights, she felt a sense of desolation. H. Burrell Hodge hadn’t spent much time in the cabin, but he’d left his mark. With her nerves on edge, she was aware of Rafe standing so close behind her that they were almost touching. It was foolish to be afraid, she lectured herself; Miss Hennessy and the Estacadas were within shouting distance. Judith entered the cabin and turned on the lights.
The living room and kitchenette were much as she had left them that afternoon. It appeared that Hodge had eaten a couple of pieces of fruit from the basket, but everything else remained untouched. Except, Judith remembered, the champagne bottle. Hodge had thrown it in the trash. The label was from a medium-priced vintner; it didn’t seem right to waste it. While Rafe searched the bedroom, Judith looked for the garbage pail. It was under the kitchen sink, empty.
Judith was still rubbing her temple when Rafe emerged from the bedroom. “Nothing there, except his suitcase. The only thing with his name on it are a couple of pill bottles.”
Distractedly, Judith nodded. “There was a business card in his wallet, I think. Lulu McLean will have to do her homework to track down Hodge’s family and business associates.” The full impact of Rafe’s words suddenly struck Judith: “Just a suitcase? What about his briefcase?”
Rafe stared at Judith with an apparent lack of comprehension. “His briefcase? I didn’t see one.”
“It was on the bed this afternoon when I brought the fruit basket. Now it’s gone, and so is the garbage. There’s not even a plastic liner. Where does Cilla put the trash?”
“There’s a communal Dumpster by the Wicker Basket,” Rafe said, looking puzzled. “Cilla cleans the cabins in the mornings. Maybe she forgot to line the can.”
Judith shook her head. “I don’t think so. Burrell said he threw out the champagne. And I left him a note about my not providing meals. That’s gone, too.”
Rafe uttered a short laugh. “Who’d throw a briefcase in the trash?”
“I don’t know. The next question is why.” Another thought occurred to her. “Rafe, did you take Mr. Hodge to his cabin this morning?”
“No,” Rafe responded. “Remember, I had to go with Mrs. Barber to Laurel Harbor. I didn’t have time to escort Mr. Hodge.”
“Th
en how did he know where to find the cabins?” Judith’s gaze was now steady as her nerves began to settle down.
Rafe lifted one dark eyebrow. “Good point. Are you saying he’s been here before?”
“What else?” Judith gave a shrug.
“What did Doc say?” Rafe’s chiseled features had taken on a dark cast as he moved out of the direct light. “Did he know Hodge?”
Judith considered Doc’s reaction to both the name and the body. “I’m not sure.” She also remembered how Esther Danfield had seemed to be trying to place Hodge. Cilla hadn’t behaved in a completely natural manner, either.
“A real mystery man,” Rafe said lightly. “Shall we head back?”
Although Judith had found no obvious threat in Rafe’s demeanor, there was no reason to stay. At the door, she cast one last look at the cabin called Buck. It had brought tragedy to H. Burrell Hodge. Slowly, she closed the door. No, it wasn’t the cabin that had cost Burrell his life. Someone had taken it, deliberately and cruelly. Judith was convinced that the obnoxious, overbearing man had been murdered. No one deserved that, not even H. Burrell Hodge.
By the time Rafe had walked Judith back to the house, she had put aside her earlier misgivings about being alone with him. He waited at the bottom of the stairs until she was safely inside. Rafe St. Jacques might exude a mysterious aura, but he behaved like a gentleman. Surely she could trust him.
Renie had scarcely moved. It was just after nine, and although she was tired, it was too early for bed. Judith realized she was famished. Sitting at the kitchen counter, she devoured crackers, cheese, and a pear. Then she stared at the phone and wondered if she should call Joe.
She didn’t want to tell him about H. Burrell Hodge. But if his death was ruled a homicide, the story would make the daily newspapers. The metro police might even be called in since Hodge was a local resident. Judith ate another cracker, squared her shoulders, and dialed Hillside Manor’s private number.
After the fourth ring, she heard her own voice on the answering machine. Annoyed, she was about to hang up without leaving a message when Joe’s breathless voice came on the line.
“Jude-girl!” he exclaimed, using the nickname that had never sat well with Judith. “I just came in the door.” The transmission between Chavez Island and the city snapped, crackled, and popped.
“Gee, did your training session last half the night?” Judith asked, wondering how to phrase her latest disaster report.
“No, we got done around five-thirty,” Joe said, his breath coming more easily now. “I had to go over and fix Herself’s toaster. She had a problem with her buns this morning.”
Judith bit her lip. “Her buns?” Was Joe teasing her?
“You know,” he said, sounding quite serious. “Those what-do-you-call-them? English muffins. Vivian always toasts them and adds about a stick of butter and an inch of marmalade. I’ve never understood why she doesn’t get fat. I guess it’s all the booze.”
The implied intimacy made Judith bristle. So did the reference to Herself’s svelte, yet curvaceous figure. All her life, Judith had struggled to keep her weight down. “Maybe I should drink more,” she said in a testy voice, then thought of Renie’s recent debacle and started to take back the words.
But Joe was already speaking: “As a matter of fact,” he said, apparently ignoring the hostility in Judith’s tone, “Vivian and I talked about her drinking tonight. Incredible as it may seem, she’s finally gotten to the point where she not only admits she has a problem, but she may be ready to do something about it. Wouldn’t that be terrific?”
In all honesty, Judith didn’t think so. As long as the great love of Herself’s life was liquor, Judith felt relatively secure. The key word, Judith realized, was relatively. Feeling totally secure was elusive. Life had bombarded Judith too often, too hard, and in too many ways.
But Judith knew she had to lie. “That’s wonderful. Is she thinking about going to AA?”
“She hasn’t gotten that far yet,” Joe replied, his voice fading in and out. Not only was the transmission from the islands poor, but apparently Joe was moving around the house with the cordless phone. “Somebody recommended a rehab outfit that’s supposed to be highly effective. If I have any spare time tomorrow at work, I’ll check into other available resources. It’s best to present Vivian with options. That way, she doesn’t feel so pressured. She’s never liked to be steered or manipulated.”
“That’s good of you, Joe,” Judith said somewhat stiffly. “What caused this sudden change?”
“It’s not so sudden,” Joe said, coming through more clearly now. “The first big change was the move from Florida. Consciously or otherwise, Vivian wanted to break her pattern of living. Then Caitlin’s been around more the past few months,” he went on, referring to the daughter he had had by Herself. “She has more influence on Vivian than anybody. Last but not least, is…” Judith could hear Joe make what sounded like a gagging noise. “…your mother. The old bat—I mean, Gertrude—has talked turkey with her. Vivian’s mother died when she was twelve, and Ma Flynn had been dead for several years when Vivian and I got married. So there’s been no maternal figure for most of her life. As you know too well, your mother…” The gagging sound was more restrained this time. “…speaks her mind. She seems to have had some influence on Vivian.”
Judith was shaking her head in amazement. For the time being, her jealousy was put on hold. “People never cease to confound me,” she murmured. “Well, I hope it works out for her.” Judith almost meant what she said.
“We’ll see.” Joe now sounded as if his mouth was full. Judith guessed that he hadn’t had any dinner. “How’s it going up on the island?”
Conflicting thoughts raced through Judith’s mind. Joe had put in a long day with the dreaded training session. Then he had come home to face not only a minor appliance repair, but a major life decision for Herself. Did he need to know about H. Burrell Hodge?
Not yet, thought Judith. If the metro division was called in, Joe might not find out for a while. The training classes kept him out of the loop. There was no point in causing him any further worry.
“One of the guests fell down the stairs,” Judith said airily, hedging her bets. “Other than that, everything’s fine.” She grimaced, thinking of Renie’s bout with the brandy. “It’s a gorgeous house and a beautiful setting. By the way, I liked that Subaru rental a lot. Instead of trying some other car, I think I’ll get one just like it for the return trip.” As she spoke, Judith realized she hadn’t told Joe about the extension of her commitment at Chavez Cove. That, too, could wait.
“I can check out prices,” Joe said. “What is it, a Legacy?”
“Right. The one I rented is loaded, which is nice. But I think we should get a used model, maybe two years old. Don’t you agree?”
“Makes sense to me.” Joe yawned. “I guess I’ll head up to my lonely bed.”
Judith felt a pang. “I really shouldn’t have come,” she declared, thinking of various reasons why not, including at least one Joe couldn’t guess.
“Hey, you’re going to make a grand off this deal. That’ll cover airfare and three nights in a decent hotel somewhere. Think January, not September.”
“I’ll try.” Joe couldn’t imagine how hard it was for Judith not to think of September. Most of the residents on Chavez Island couldn’t seem to put it out of their minds. Judith wondered why. “We can certainly use some R and R after the holidays.”
“We sure can,” Joe agreed. “Compared with other things, a thousand-dollar getaway is cheap. If Vivian decides to go to that rehab place, it may not be covered under her medical insurance. It costs over eight grand for a stay at Adhab.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of…” Judith stopped short. “Did you say Adhab?”
“Right. I think it stands for Addiction and Rehabilitation, or something like that. They’ve got several places on the West Coast. Whoever told Vivian about them said they were very good. Pastoral surroundings, comf
ortable rooms, excellent food, and a crackerjack staff. Have you heard of them?”
“Maybe. But only in passing.” Judith was digging around in her memory. Was Adhab really the name that Deputy McLean had mentioned in connection with H. Burrell Hodge? “Is their headquarters local?”
“I’ve no idea.” Joe yawned again. “As I said, I’ll try to check them and some of the other rehab groups out tomorrow. I’m sinking slowly into the west, Jude-girl. The class bell rings at seven-thirty. Love you.”
“Me too,” Judith said in a distracted manner. She hung up the phone very slowly. The world was full of acronyms. Some of them were identical, though they stood for different words. On the other hand, there was no reason why H. Burrell Hodge shouldn’t be connected with a rehab organization. He had certainly been vocal in his antiliquor sentiments. Perhaps his reasons were professional. Deputy McLean would find out soon enough. Judith decided that she, too, would enjoy the relaxing waters of the Jacuzzi.
The master bedroom’s tub and shower were in an open area separated from the bed by only a chair and a writing desk. The sound of the rushing water awakened Renie. She struggled to sit up, blinking against the subdued lighting and obviously trying to figure out where she was.
“Bill?” Her voice was fuzzy. “What…? Why…? Coz?” Her eyes grew wide if slightly unfocused as she stared at Judith. “Oh God! I did something really stupid, didn’t I?”
“Define stupid,” Judith responded, testing the water with a finger. “How do you feel?”
“Ghastly. What time is it?”
“A little after ten. Everybody’s gone.”
“What’s happening?” With a small groan, Renie swung her legs over the edge of the bed and faced the Jacuzzi.
Judith shot her cousin a reproachful look. “Can this discussion wait until morning? While you were cutting Z’s, I was hustling. The deputy sheriff, Doc Wicker, the B&B guests, Rafe St. Jacques—and my husband, helping his ex-wife conquer alcoholism. Not to mention getting her buns out of the toaster, or some damned thing. I’m beat. Go back to sleep, and I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”